Grumpy Man and Nosy Ponies

Chapters

Ch 1
That time I got sent to a parallel reality where everyone is a pony and they dont respect boundaries.
Turns Out Solitude Isn’t as Peaceful When You’re Screaming.
We’re Waiting, Just Beyond the Light.
Our Gift Knocks, Let It In.
Your Absence Invited Us Home.
You Stubborn Thing, Let the Water Take You.
No Wall Holds Me Out.
Where Have You Gone?
Their Cries Lead You Home.
Blind in Her Brilliance.
Even The Sun Sets.
No Heroes.
Even Your Hope Is Consumed.
Echo
Echo.
They See What I Made You.
She’s Not Buying Your Brooding
You Don’t Deserve This.
You Can’t Outrun What You Are
Close Your Eyes, I’m There.

Ch 1

You still can't believe your house came with you to this place. You put your hood up as you walk through Ponyville, hoping the ponies won't notice the huge bipedal human among them. As you walk, you feel the curious stares of the ponies, their eyes wide, whispering and pointing in your direction. You see a group of fillies playing with a ball, their eyes fixed on you, and a few colts trying to muster the courage to approach.

You look around for the library, where you know a certain lavender unicorn who's very good with magic resides. You've never met, but you bet she'd help you out. You navigate through Ponyville, your large strides causing the cobblestone streets to echo. The colorful houses and shops blend into the background as you focus on finding the library. As you approach the building, you notice a group of ponies gathered near the entrance, their eyes wide with curiosity and awe.

Entering the library, the musty smell of old books greets you, mingling with the faint scent of lavender. The library's interior is quiet and dimly lit, with rows of bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling. A shimmer of purple catches your eye. There, nestled in a corner of the library, sits Twilight Sparkle, the lavender unicorn, with a book open in front of her. Her eyes are focused on the pages.

"Hello there," Twilight says, her voice calm, not even looking up from her book.

"Hey," you reply.

Twilight's ears perk up, and she looks at you with a mix of surprise and interest. "Hello," she repeats, her tone friendly yet cautious. "It's not often that we get visitors here. How can I help you?"

"What do you know about interdimensional travel?" you ask, hoping against hope.

Twilight's eyes narrow slightly as she considers your question. "Interdimensional travel," she says slowly, "is a complex and little-understood phenomenon. It involves the movement of objects or beings from one dimension to another, often through magical means or other unknown forces."

She pauses, studying you intently. "But I must admit, I've never encountered… whatever you are before. Are you... from another dimension?"

"Unfortunately, yes, and I'd like to go back if that's possible," you respond, expecting her denial.

Twilight's eyes widen, her curiosity piqued. "I see," she says, her voice thoughtful. "Interdimensional travel is extremely difficult and rare. It requires a significant amount of magical energy, knowledge, and often a very specific portal or gateway."

She rises from her chair, her tail swishing gently behind her. "I'm not saying it's impossible, but it's certainly challenging."

"What do you think my odds are?" you inquire.

"Low to none," she admits, her expression serious as she paces across the library. "I must be honest with you," she continues, her voice soft yet resolute. "The odds of successfully returning to your dimension are very low. The complexities of interdimensional travel are daunting, and the resources required are immense."

She stops in front of a bookshelf and runs her hoof over the spines of the tomes, her eyes flicking between them.

"So I'm stuck here..." you mutter.

Twilight nods, her expression sympathetic. "Yes, it seems so," she replies. "But being stuck here doesn't mean it’s the end of the world. There are still ways to make the most of your time here."

She turns back to face you, her eyes sparkling with a hint of hope. "Ponyville can be a wonderful place. The ponies here are kind and curious. You might find that they can help you in ways you can't imagine."

"Not too fond of outsiders though, are they? Heard a zebra got run out of town just for having stripes. Imagine how they'll react to me," you comment.

Twilight's ears fold back slightly, and she lets out a small sigh. "Yes, Ponyville can be quite... protective of itself," she admits. "The zebras and any other non-Equine residents can be met with suspicion and fear. It's not a welcoming place for outsiders, especially those as different as you."

She places a hoof on a nearby table, her eyes locking with yours. "But, its not so bad anymore," she continues. "While it's true that Ponyville has a history of being wary of outsiders, there have been some recent changes. The ponies here have been trying to be more open-minded and welcoming. It might be more difficult with your... unique appearance."

She pauses, considering her words carefully. "But that doesn't mean you can't find a way to make a life here. There are still many kind and curious ponies who might be willing to help you."

"I'm not too fond of handouts. My house came here with me... for some reason. I can hunt well enough on my own; don't really need too much help," you assert.

Twilight's eyes flicker with a mix of concern and determination. "While self-reliance is an admirable trait, it might not be enough to sustain you here," she says gently. "Ponyville has its own unique challenges, and you'll need more than just hunting skills to navigate them."

She steps closer, her voice softening. "Think of it this way," Twilight suggests, her tone gentle yet firm. "While your physical skills are certainly valuable, the ponies here are not just simple creatures. They have their own magic, their own cultures, and their own ways of doing things. Being self-sufficient might protect you from immediate harm, but it won't necessarily help you find a place to belong."

Twilight pauses, her eyes searching yours for understanding.

You stare back with a raised eyebrow. "Forgive me but I'm really not one for the 'magic of friendship,'" you say, using your fingers as quotation marks. Twilight's face scrunches unnaturally.

"The 'magic of friendship' is a fundamental part of our world," she says, her voice tinged with surprise. "It's how we build bonds and help each other, often in ways that transcend the ordinary. Friendship is what makes our world a more harmonious place."

Twilight steps closer, her presence almost overwhelming due to the intensity of her aura. "I understand that your background and experiences might be different from ours," she says, her voice measured and deliberate. "But trust me, in Ponyville, the bonds of friendship can make a significant difference. It's not just a sentiment; it's a power that can be harnessed and utilized."

"Imagine being part of a community where you can rely on others for support, where you can help others in need, and where you can find belonging," Twilight says, her eyes locking onto yours with fervor. "Friendship can be a bridge that spans dimensions, if you will."

Twilight's intensity makes you pause, and you can see the sincerity in her eyes. Her conviction is unyielding, but you've never been one for sentimentalities.

"I don’t see why it's so important to you. I didn't have any friends back home either," you say. You hear a sound like glass breaking, startling you.

Twilight's eyes widen, and she takes a step back, clearly taken aback by your words. "I... I didn't realize," she stammers, her voice trembling slightly. "Lack of friendship can be a painful experience."

"It's really not so bad," you say, looking around curiously for the source of the noise.

Twilight's expression softens, and she steps closer again, her eyes searching yours. "You might not understand the depth of friendship, but I assure you, it can change things," she says gently. "It's not just about companionship; it's about the bonds that form, the trust that develops, and the help that's offered in times of need."

She pauses, her gaze steady.

"It's settled then. You and I are friends," she says firmly.

"W-what?" you say, a bit flustered. "No we're not, I don't know you like that."

"Oh, but we are," she says firmly. "Friends come in many forms, and our connection is just as real. Trust me, it will make a difference."

"N-no! Damn it, we are not," you say.

"That's the fun part about friendship," she replies, her tone playful but firm. "You don't have to say yes, because I'm already your friend," she says smugly.

"You're impossible," you say, putting a hand to your forehead.

"Impossible? Perhaps," she says, her tone light. "But I assure you, having a friend like me will make your time here much more bearable."

She steps back, her expression softening. "Now, let's focus on the practicalities. Your house, the one you mentioned, must be quite the anomaly." The sudden subject change knocks you out of your stupor.

"Yeah, I mean it's got running water and stuff. The electricity works still somehow... Magic I guess," you admit.

"It's quite an enigma," she muses. "Running water and electricity aren't common in Ponyville."

She taps a hoof on the table thoughtfully. "We might need to figure out how it's maintained. It could be a valuable resource, especially for a place like Ponyville."

"I'm not letting you in my house," you say firmly.

"I understand your need for privacy," she says, her tone measured, "but as your friend, I feel it's my duty to help ensure that your home remains functional and safe within our community."

"We're not friends," you say, but she continues.

"As your friend," she emphasizes, "I want to help you understand the potential of what you have," she says, her voice unwavering. "Your home, with its modern comforts, could be a beacon for our community. Imagine the possibilities—clean water, light, warmth in the cold winter nights. It could bring many benefits to Ponyville."

She steps closer, her eyes locking onto yours.

"I'm not letting your friends in my house either," you grumble. But you find yourself walking to your house anyway, the pretty purple pony trotting happily beside you.

"You don't have to be nervous," she says, her voice soothing. "I promise I won't intrude on your personal space. I just want to help you understand the potential benefits."

As you approach the house, Twilight's eyes widen in awe. "This is incredible," she murmurs, her gaze taking in the sleek exterior and the dead garden.

"I suppose it would look that way with how you guys have basically shacks for houses," you remark.

Twilight's ears twitch slightly, and she looks at you with a mixture of amusement and slight offense. "Well, I suppose we do have more rustic dwellings," she admits, her tone light. "But there's a beauty in our simplicity. It's a part of who we are."

She steps closer to the house, her curiosity evident. "Tell me, how does the electricity work?" she asks, intrigued.

"Well, they used to be connected by a bunch of cables. They ran underground and some of the telephone wires and stuff came through the top. Now everything's disconnected. But it's still working somehow," you explain.

Twilight's eyes sparkle with curiosity and a hint of determination. "So, it's still operational despite the lack of connections?" she asks, her tone full of wonder. She looks around the exterior of your house, taking in the various wires and cables that still hang from the roof.

She steps inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. "This is fascinating," she says, her voice filled with awe. You step inside, and Twilight follows. She moves with a gentle grace, her eyes taking in every detail. "The interior is just as impressive," she says, her voice tinged with excitement.

She notices the old appliances and the modern technology that still hum with life despite the lack of electricity. "It's remarkable that they still function," she murmurs.

As she wanders towards your room, you try to stop her. "Hey, not there, that's my room," you protest.

Twilight pauses, looking back at you with a playful smile. "Oh, but I'm your best friend," she says, her tone teasing but firm. "That means I can explore your room."

She steps inside, her curiosity and excitement evident as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Only the best cause you're the only," you grumble. Her ears perk up and you realize your mistake. She takes a proud stance.

"The only?" she repeats, her voice brimming with delight. "So we are friends! You said it yourself!"

"T-that's not what I—" you start, a bit flustered, but Twilight is already exploring your private things. "H-hey!" you say as she sniffs the bed.

Twilight pauses, her head still tilted as if sniffing out secrets. "Oh, your bed smells like... well, like you," she says, her voice light but with a hint of curiosity. "Interesting."

She turns around, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I can tell it's been a while since you last cleaned it," she remarks, glancing around the room. "I suppose it hasn't seen much action."

"H-hey!" you say, taking offense (even though she's right). "Aren't you supposed to be sweet and innocent?"

Twilight's expression turns thoughtful, and she tilts her head slightly. "Sweet and innocent doesn't mean I don't have a sense of humor," she replies, her tone playful. "Besides, it's only fair I notice these things. You are my friend, after all."

"Stop saying that," you grumble.

Twilight grins, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I think I'll say it a lot," she says with a playful tone. "It's all part of being your friend, after all."

She moves to the dresser, her curiosity getting the better of her. "So, what's this?" she asks, picking up an old photograph from the cluttered surface. She studies it for a moment before handing it to you. "Is this... a... what are you again?"

"I'm human. And yeah, that's my sister. She left a few of her photos before she moved to Mississippi," you explain. "We rented this house together. It was cheaper that way."

Twilight's eyes soften as she looks at the photograph. "She’s lovely," she says, handing the photo back to you. "She must have been very important to you."

“Nah, she didn’t do the dishes or the trash, basically just ate my food for a couple years then left, halved rent was nice though” you say reminiscing.

Twilight for a moment frowns and moves on, smile firmly back in place.

She moves to the closet, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I wonder what else you might have," she muses. "Do you alphabetize your clothes as well?" You realize you need to take control of this situation before she goes through every inch of your belongings. "That's enough, Twilight."

She pops back out with a sock on her snout.

Twilight pulls the sock off her snout, her eyes wide with delight. "I couldn't help it!" she says, holding up the sock. "It's all so new! This is quite the adventure."

She twirls the sock around her hoof, her playful demeanor still evident. "I've never seen anything like this before. The sheer variety of clothing you have is astounding. It's like a treasure trove!"

She starts inching towards your dresser as you scold her. "How would you like it if I looked through all of your things?" I say, trying to get her to relate.

Twilight's eyes sparkle with curiosity as she inches closer to the dresser. "Oh, did you want to trade?" she replies, her tone playful but unapologetic. "It's only fair, after all. Friends share everything with each other, right?"

She picks up a pair of shoes, examining them with curiosity. "These are quite interesting. They look so... sturdy," she says, her voice tinged with wonder. "Do you wear them often?"

"Yeah, feet are pretty soft, so we have to," you explain.

You feel a chill run down your spine as you notice the curiosity in Twilight's eyes. She tilts her head, her gaze fixed on you. "So, what are these 'feet' you mentioned?" she asks, her tone soft but inquisitive.

You realize you need to find a way to redirect her attention before she becomes too engrossed. "Look, Twilight, I appreciate your curiosity, but some things are better left unexplored."

Twilight's eyes gleam with fascination. "Feet. Feeeeet. Fet." she repeats, trying out the new word, her voice tinged with excitement. "I've never heard of such a thing! It sounds... intriguing."

She looks at you expectantly, clearly waiting for more information. "Do they have a special place in your body? Are they magical in some way?" she asks, leaning in closer, her curiosity almost palpable.

"Hey. No. No Feet," you say, trying to be firm.

Twilight's eyes widen in surprise, and she looks at you with a mixture of confusion and disappointment. "No feet?" she echoes, her voice almost incredulous. "But... How can I go on not knowing?"

"You're just gonna have to deal with it," you say.

Twilight tries to maintain her composure, but her twitching becomes more pronounced as she struggles to accept the mystery of 'feet.' She looks up at you, her eyes searching for weakness, but she finds none. "But it's so... intriguing," she murmurs, her voice tinged with frustration. "I feel like there's so much more to learn."

She takes a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Tell me about something else, then."

"I will literally tell you anything if you forget about feet," you offer.

Twilight's ears perk up at your offer, and she nods eagerly. "Anything? Really? Oh, this is exciting!" she exclaims, her previous frustration melting away.

"Alright, anything," she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "What's the most interesting thing about your world that you haven't told me yet?" You pause for a moment, trying to decide where to start.

You decide to explain how airplanes achieve flight despite being heavier than air.

Twilight's eyes widen with curiosity and wonder. "Airplanes? Flying? That's incredible!" she exclaims, her voice filled with excitement. "Tell me, how do they manage to defy gravity and soar through the air?"

You nod, preparing to explain. "Well, airplanes work by using lift, which is created by the shape of their wings." Twilight leans in, her ears perked up with interest. "Lift? How do they create lift?" she asks, her curiosity evident.

You take a breath and begin to explain. "The shape of the wings is designed to create an area of lower air pressure above the wing and an area of higher air pressure below. This difference in pressure creates an upward force called lift, which counteracts the weight of the plane and allows it to rise." Twilight's eyes shine with understanding as you explain. "That's amazing! So, it's like... magic?" she asks, her tone tinged with awe. "But not really, I suppose."

You chuckle. "Well, it might seem magical, but it's actually just the result of clever design and the properties of air. The wings are angled in such a way that the air flows faster over the top and slower underneath, creating the pressure difference." Twilight nods, her mind clearly processing the information. "I see," she says, her tone thoughtful. "So, it's a combination of clever design and the natural properties of air. That's... fascinating."

She looks at you with a curious expression. "Is there more to tell? How do they control the plane once it's in the air? Do they have to use magic to steer it?" You smile at Twilight's enthusiasm.

"No, humans don't have magic," you say.

Twilight looks at you with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "No magic? But how do they steer and control the plane then?" she asks, her curiosity clearly piqued.

You shrug, enjoying her fascination. "Airplanes use a combination of control surfaces and control systems to steer and maneuver. The control surfaces on the wings, like ailerons and flaps, can be moved to change the angle of the wing and thus the direction of the plane." Twilight's ears perk up even more. "Ailerons and flaps? That sounds like a clever way to control the plane," she says, her voice tinged with admiration. "But how do they move these control surfaces?"

You smile, appreciating her eagerness to learn. "Well, most modern planes have hydraulic or electric systems that allow the pilots to control the movement of these surfaces."

You spend hours answering Twilight's questions, before long, it's dark.

As the day fades into night, the room grows dimmer, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. Twilight, still enthralled by your explanations, leans back in her chair, her ears twitching with excitement.

"Wow, I've never imagined such a world," she says, her voice filled with awe. "It's incredible, yet somehow... understandable."

"Ok, you've asked enough questions, go home," you say noticing its gotten dark out.

Twilight's ears fold down in disappointment, and she looks at you with a mixture of reluctance and pleading. "But it's so dark out," she says, her voice tinged with concern. "I don't want to walk alone in the forest."

She's adorable, but you can't fold. "I-I can't have basically some stranger sleep in my house," you say, slightly wavering. She senses weakness.

Twilight's ears perk up again, and she looks at you with hopeful eyes. "Please? Just for tonight?" she asks, her voice soft and sincere. "I promise I'll leave in the morning. I'll even help with the chores tomorrow."

You can't help but feel a pang of sympathy as you look into her pleading eyes. Despite your initial reluctance, her sincerity seems genuine.

You try not to falter. "I-I..." her eyes seem to grow as she looks at you with hope. "I'll get the spare blankets," you say, drooping a bit.

Twilight's face lights up with joy and relief. "Thank you," she says, her voice full of gratitude. She stands up and stretches, her tail flicking behind her with excitement.

As you gather the soft blankets, you grumble about ponies being too good at begging.

When you bring back the blankets, Twilight is nowhere to be seen. You hear noise in your room. When you get there, Twilight's lying on the bed and has clearly made herself at home.

Twilight is lying on your bed, her eyes closed in contentment as she rests on the blankets. She has clearly made herself comfortable, her hooves tucked up and her tail wrapped snugly around her.

You stand in the doorway, feeling a mix of irritation and amusement. "Twilight, what are you doing?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Twilight stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open as she senses your presence. She stretches and yawns, seemingly oblivious to your irritation. "I'm just resting," she says, her voice soft and drowsy. "I'm not taking up much space."

You cross your arms, trying to maintain your composure. "I know you're not taking up much space, but... this is my bed. You should be sleeping on the couch or something."

Twilight sits up, her eyes wide with genuine confusion. "It's normal for ponies to sleep together," she says, her tone filled with innocence. "We often share beds or sleep in close proximity. It's just how we do things."

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your frustration in check. "I get that, but this is my bed. You can sleep on the couch or even the floor if you want."

Twilight tilts her head, her expression still confused and a bit puzzled. "But why not? It's just a bed," she says, her tone gentle yet insistent. "I promise I won't take up much space. I'll even make sure to get up early and help with the chores as promised."

You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. "It's not just about taking up space, Twilight. This is my personal space, my sanctuary."

Twilight gives you a determined look, her eyes locked on yours. "It's fine," she insists firmly. "I'll be out of here in the morning."

Before you can respond, she lays back down, closing her eyes with a practiced air of peacefulness. You watch in exasperation as her breathing slows into what sounds suspiciously like fake snores.

"Am I a pushover?" you say to yourself as you get in bed and do your best to ignore the sleeping lavender menace.

You climb into bed, trying to ignore the presence beside you. Twilight's fake snores are starting to get on your nerves. You adjust the blankets and close your eyes, attempting to fall asleep despite the unusual situation.

As you lay there, you hear a faint rustling sound. You open your eyes to find Twilight quietly rolling onto her side, her eyes open and watching you. "Do you ever get lonely?"

"Weren't you sleeping?" you say flatly.

Twilight's eyes soften, and she gives you a sheepish grin. "I was just resting my eyes," she says, her voice gentle. "But I couldn't help wondering... do you ever get lonely?"

"No," you lie. "I am an island unto myself."

Twilight's ears twitch, and she looks at you with a combination of curiosity and compassion. "Really? But how can that be? Everyone needs friends and companions," she says softly. "Even if it's just for a little while."

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the heat of her gaze. "I've just never needed them. I prefer my solitude," you insist, though your voice lacks the confidence you'd like it to have. Twilight's expression softens, her eyes showing understanding and empathy. "That's... interesting," she says, her tone gentle. "But sometimes, even the strongest and most self-sufficient need a little bit of connection, a little bit of friendship."

She pauses, then adds, "I'm here now. If you want to talk or share something, I'm here to listen."

"Well, I'm here to sleep," you then pretend to be asleep, with fake snores “gaa-shooo, gaaa-shooo”.

Twilight's eyes narrow slightly, catching on your fake snores. "You know, you're not very good at this," she says, her voice teasing.

You open one eye just enough to see her and pretend to snore again, this time with a bit more conviction. She chuckles softly, the sound gentle and soothing. "I guess I'll just have to keep trying," she says, her tone playful. Twilight settles back down, her breathing steady and even. You peak your eye back open and watch her for a moment, her peaceful expression bringing a strange sense of calm over you. You try to shake it off, can't go soft, after all.

As the night progresses, you find yourself drifting into a light sleep, the sound of her gentle snores and the quiet hum of the night in the forest lulling you into a strange sense of peace.

That time I got sent to a parallel reality where everyone is a pony and they dont respect boundaries.

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of something burning.

You bolt upright, disoriented, to find the bed empty beside you. Twilight is nowhere in sight. Panic sets in as you realize she's loose in your house. You scramble out of bed and rush toward the kitchen, your bare feet skidding on the linoleum.

Twilight is standing at the stove, a triumphant grin on her face as she levitates a spatula. Smoke billows from a pan filled with what you can only assume were once pancakes. The smell of burnt batter assaults your nose.

"Good morning!" Twilight chirps, her tail swishing behind her. "I thought I'd surprise you with breakfast!"

You stare at her, wide-eyed, as she plates the charred pancakes and sets them on the table. "Surprise me? With a fire hazard?" you ask, incredulous.

Twilight blinks, looking genuinely puzzled. "Fire hazard? Oh, no, I had everything under control!" She gestures to the pan with her magic, as if that somehow proves her point. "I even found these instructions on the back of the pancake mix box. I followed them perfectly!"

You glance at the box, which is open and precariously balanced on the counter, a trail of powder leading to the floor. "Did you read the part about cooking on medium heat?"

Twilight's ears twitch, and her confident smile falters. "Well... the Higher the heat, the faster they cook, right?"

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "That's... not how it works, Twilight."

She levitates a fork and offers it to you with a sheepish smile. "At least try one? I worked really hard on them."

You stare at the plate of charred pancakes with a mix of suspicion and frustration. Twilight beams at you, her magic still holding the spatula aloft like a trophy.

"I'm not eating that," you state flatly.

Her ears twitch, and her smile falters. "But I made them for you! It's a friendly gesture," she protests, placing the spatula down and nudging the plate closer to you with her hoof. "You said you didn’t want handouts, so I figured this could be a trade! My cooking for your hospitality."

"Yeah, well, I don't want a side of food poisoning with my morning coffee," you counter, crossing your arms. "This isn't a trade. It's a health hazard."

Twilight pouts, her big purple eyes narrowing. "They're not that bad," she insists, grabbing a fork with her magic and cutting a corner off the pancake. She hesitates, glancing at you. "See? I'll try it first!"

She pops the piece into her mouth and chews, her confident expression quickly souring. Her eyes water, and she forces herself to swallow. "O-okay, maybe they’re a little... overdone," she admits, coughing slightly.

You lean back in your chair, smirking. "Overdone? That pancake could be used as roofing material."

Twilight glares at you, but there’s no real malice behind it. "Fine, maybe I set the heat a little too high. But it’s the thought that counts, right?"

You avoid her gaze, grabbing the nearest dish towel and starting to wipe down the counter. "You really made a mess," you mutter, ignoring her question entirely. The pancake pan is still smoking slightly on the stove, and you turn off the burner with a quick, sharp motion.

Twilight watches you, her ears twitching. "It’s not that bad," she says, glancing at the blackened remains on the plate. Her magic nudges the pancakes toward you again. "You could at least try a bite. For science?"

You snort. "One is a big enough sample size for this experiment."

Twilight pouts, but you don’t look at her. You focus on the counter, scrubbing away the trail of pancake mix she’d somehow managed to get everywhere. The silence stretches between you, her disappointment practically radiating through the room.

Finally, Twilight sighs and picks up the plate with her magic. "Alright, I’ll admit these aren’t my best work," she says, dumping the pancakes unceremoniously into the trash. "But I’ll do better next time!"

You freeze mid-scrub, your hand tightening on the dish towel. "Next time?" you repeat, finally turning to glare at her.

Twilight grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head with a hoof. "Well, yeah. I mean, practice makes perfect, right? And I’ve got plenty of time to get it right."

"Not in my kitchen," you reply firmly, pointing a finger at her. "If you want to practice, you’re doing it somewhere else."

Twilight tilts her head, her eyes wide with faux innocence. "But where else would I go? My kitchen isn’t nearly as, uh... equipped as yours."

You groan, turning back to the counter and scrubbing harder than necessary. "Not my problem, Sparkle."

She hums thoughtfully, clearly undeterred. "You know, I think we make a pretty good team. I cook, you clean. It’s efficient!"

You slam the dish towel onto the counter and glare at her again. "We’re not a team. You’re a guest who’s overstaying her welcome, and I’m the guy who has to clean up after you. Big difference."

Twilight just smiles, her horn lighting up as she levitates a broom and starts sweeping. "Oh, come on. Admit it. You’re warming up to me."

You turn away, muttering under your breath as you rinse the dish towel in the sink.

Twilight hums a cheery tune as she sweeps up the floor, clearly pleased with herself despite the earlier disaster. You finish rinsing the dish towel, wring it out, and toss it over the edge of the sink. The kitchen looks passable now, though you’re sure you’ll find stray bits of pancake mix in corners for weeks.

"Alright, Sparkle, you’ve had your fun," you say, turning to face her. "Time to head out and let me have some peace."

Twilight stops sweeping and looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. "But I haven’t even finished helping yet! The floor’s still messy, and I haven’t reorganized your pantry. Do humans even organize pantries? Because yours is... well, it’s—"

"Don’t even finish that sentence," you cut her off, glaring. "The pantry is fine. Perfect, even. Just leave it alone."

She grins slyly, clearly enjoying your irritation. "If you say so. But I’d be happy to give it a little... magical touch. Alphabetical order, maybe? Or by nutritional value? I’ve read that’s very efficient."

You cross your arms and take a step closer, trying to loom over her. "Twilight, this isn’t your library. Stay out of my pantry."

She giggles, completely unfazed by your attempt at intimidation. "Fine, fine. No pantry. But I promised I would help, so at least let me make myself useful." Her horn lights up, and the broom floats over to lean neatly against the wall. "What’s next? Dusting? Laundry? I’m excellent with organization spells."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. "Next is you leaving, so I can have some quiet for once."

Twilight tilts her head, her ears twitching. "But it’s still so early! And I haven't even fully learned about your culture yet. I mean, I could head back to Ponyville for some tools, but—"

"Great idea," you interrupt, clapping your hands together. "Ponyville’s that way. Don’t let me keep you."

She pouts, her lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated display of sadness. "You really want to get rid of me that badly?"

"Yes," you say without hesitation.

Twilight pauses, watching you closely. Her expression shifts slightly, and for a moment, you think she might actually leave. But then her eyes light up with a mischievous spark, and she takes a step closer.

"You know," she says, her tone teasing, "for someone who claims to want peace and quiet, you sure do let me stick around a lot. Almost like you don’t really want me to leave."

Your jaw tightens. "I practice nonviolence, but you are testing that practice."

She grins, flicking her tail playfully. "I’m just saying. Actions speak louder than words, you know."

You groan, turning away from her and heading toward the living room. "I have all the time in the world, but I still don't have enough to argue pointlessly with you. Do whatever you want. Just stay out of my way."

"Deal!" she chirps, trotting after you with far too much enthusiasm. "You won’t even know I’m here!"

You collapse onto the couch, already regretting your life choices. Twilight, true to her word, plops herself down in the armchair across from you, her horn glowing as she pulls a notebook and quill from seemingly nowhere.

"What are you doing now?" you ask, narrowing your eyes.

"Taking notes, of course!" she replies cheerfully, scribbling furiously in her notebook. "I want to document everything I learn about humans. It’s fascinating! For instance, did you know you’re incredibly grumpy in the mornings?"

You rub your temples, feeling another headache coming on.

"Grumpy? I'm not grumpy," you snap, glaring at her. "I just don't like it when uninvited guests turn my house into a research lab."

Twilight grins, her quill scratching against the notebook. "Noted: subject exhibits denial of mood, coupled with defensiveness when confronted about it."

"Subject?" you echo, sitting up straighter. "I'm not your science project, Sparkle."

She waves a hoof dismissively, not even looking up from her notes. "Of course not! You’re more like... a case study. There’s so much to learn about you! For example, why do humans insist on keeping their living spaces so cluttered?"

"My house isn’t cluttered!" you protest, but she points the quill at a nearby pile of books and tools you’ve been meaning to put away.

"It’s a little cluttered," she says, her tone maddeningly reasonable.

You lean back into the couch, arms crossed, trying to block out the sound of her scribbling. "You don’t get to critique my house. You live in a hollowed-out tree."

Twilight smirks, finally looking up from her notes. "Yes, but it’s a very well-organized hollowed-out tree. Maybe you could take some inspiration?"

You groan, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. "Why me? Why did it have to be me stuck in this situation?"

"Maybe the universe knew you needed a friend," Twilight says matter-of-factly, her quill pausing mid-air.

"I don’t need a friend," you reply automatically, not even bothering to look at her.

Twilight leans forward in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You keep saying that, but here I am. And you haven’t kicked me out yet."

"That’s because I don’t have a leash to drag you out with," you mutter, earning a stifled giggle from her.

"You’re funny when you’re cranky," she says, jotting something down in her notebook. "I think we’re making progress."

"Progress?" you repeat, glaring at her. "This isn’t a therapy session."

She shrugs, a smug little smile on her face. "No, but it’s clear you’ve been holding a lot in. Maybe having a friend will help you open up."

You sit up, fixing her with a flat look. "You can’t just declare yourself my friend. That’s not how it works."

"Sure it is," she replies, her tone cheerful and confident. "Friendship isn’t a contract. It’s a connection. And whether you like it or not, we’re connected now."

You open your mouth to argue, but she cuts you off with a wave of her hoof. "Don’t worry, I’m very patient. You’ll come around eventually."

"I wouldn’t count on it," you grumble, slumping back into the couch.

Twilight simply smiles, her quill poised over her notebook as if she’s already jotting down your eventual capitulation. "We’ll see," she says, her tone so infuriatingly smug that you consider throwing a pillow at her.

Instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to ignore her. She might be persistent, but you’re determined not to let her win.

The sound of Twilight’s quill scratching against her notebook continues, a rhythmic reminder of her presence that you can't ignore. You crack an eye open to see her completely engrossed in whatever she’s writing, her tail flicking lazily back and forth.

"Do you ever stop?" you ask, your tone sharp but not entirely hostile.

Twilight looks up, her expression the picture of innocence. "Stop what?"

"That," you say, gesturing vaguely toward the notebook. "Writing. Talking. Existing loudly."

She chuckles, completely unfazed. "I can’t help it. There’s so much to document! You’re like a walking treasure trove of knowledge about a whole other world. It’s fascinating!"

You sit up and lean forward, pinching the bridge of your nose. "I’m not a museum exhibit, Sparkle. I’m just a guy who wants his life back."

Her expression softens, and for a moment, she looks genuinely sympathetic. "I know," she says quietly, setting the notebook down. "And I really do want to help you. But until we figure out a way to send you home, you’re here. And while you’re here, you might as well make the most of it."

"By letting you annoy me to death?" you shoot back, but the edge in your voice has dulled slightly.

Twilight smiles, her ears perking up. "See? That’s the spirit! A little humor goes a long way."

You groan and flop back against the couch, staring at the ceiling again. "Why do I feel like I’m being tricked into something?"

"Because you are," she says brightly, levitating her notebook back into her saddlebag. "But it’s for your own good, I promise."

Before you can respond, there’s a knock at the door. You sit up, frowning. "Who the hell could that be?"

Twilight hops off the chair, her tail swishing as she heads toward the door. "I’ll get it!"

"Wait—" you start, but she’s already opened the door.

Standing on your porch is Pinkie Pie, her usual whirlwind of energy barely contained as she bounces in place. She gasps dramatically when she sees you.

"There you are!" Pinkie exclaims, bounding past Twilight and into the living room. "I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Well, not everywhere everywhere, but definitely a lot of places! You’re really good at hiding, huh?"

You blink, utterly bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Pinkie grins, pulling a basket of baked goods seemingly out of thin air and plopping it onto your coffee table. "I heard we had a new neighbor, so I just had to bring a welcome basket! It’s got muffins, cupcakes, cookies, and—oh!—a pie, because my name’s Pinkie Pie, and I just couldn’t resist!"

"Great," you say dryly, eyeing the basket like it might explode. "More food I didn’t ask for."

Pinkie giggles, completely unbothered. "You’re funny! My twitches were right, you are a grump. But that’s okay! Grumps need friends too!"

Twilight smirks from her spot by the door. "Told you."

You glare at her. "You’re behind this, aren’t you?"

Twilight raises a hoof, looking almost offended. "I had nothing to do with this. Pinkie has a sixth sense for new arrivals. She probably sniffed you out the moment you got here."

Pinkie nods enthusiastically. "Yup! My Pinkie Sense was tingling! It said, ‘There’s a grumpy human who needs cheering up!’ So here I am!"

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "This can’t be my life now."

Pinkie pats you on the back with surprising gentleness. "Don’t worry, Mr. Grumpy Pants! We’ll have you smiling in no time!"

"Please don’t call me that," you mumble through your hands.

"Okay, Mr. Grumpy Hoodie!" she says cheerfully.

Twilight snorts, and you shoot her a withering look. "Not. Helping."

Pinkie starts bouncing toward the kitchen. "Ooh, is that pancake mix I smell? Were you making breakfast? Or lunch? Or brinner? I love brinner!"

Twilight grins, following Pinkie. "Actually, I was making breakfast, but it didn’t turn out so well."

"That’s okay!" Pinkie says, pulling a frying pan out of a cabinet like she owns the place. "I’ll whip up something amazing! Sit tight, Grumpy!"

You stare at the two ponies taking over your kitchen and feel your sanity slipping further away. "I don’t even know you people," you mutter to yourself.

Twilight peeks out from the kitchen, her smile sly. "You’re going to thank us one day, you know."

"Don’t hold your breath," you reply, but there’s no real venom in your voice.

As Pinkie starts singing some nonsense tune about pancakes, you slump back into the couch, resigned to your fate.

Pinkie Pie hums cheerfully as she flips pancakes with the precision of a master chef. You watch from the couch, unable to completely ignore the chaos unfolding in your kitchen. Twilight is organizing your silverware drawer—for some reason—and you’ve given up trying to stop her.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Grumpy Hoodie," Pinkie chirps. "These pancakes are gonna be the best you’ve ever had!"

"Low bar," you mutter under your breath.

Pinkie doesn’t seem to hear you—or she pretends not to. She flips another pancake into the air, catching it perfectly in the pan. "Do humans like syrup? Or maybe butter? Or jam? Ooh, do you have whipped cream?"

"No whipped cream," you call back. "And don’t go digging through my fridge!"

Pinkie pokes her head out of the kitchen, her expression scandalized. "But how am I supposed to make the perfect pancake experience without whipped cream? This is a travesty!"

"It’s breakfast, not a party," you reply. "Just make something edible."

Twilight laughs softly, still fiddling with your silverware. "You might as well let her work her magic. Pinkie’s cooking is legendary."

"Cooking is supposed to be functional," you counter. "Not a magic show."

Pinkie bounces back into view, carrying a plate stacked high with golden-brown pancakes. "Ta-da! The first batch is ready!" She sets the plate on your coffee table with a flourish. "Try one! You’ll love it!"

You eye the pancakes warily, half expecting them to jump up and sing a song. "I’ll pass."

Pinkie gasps, clutching her chest like you’ve just insulted her honor. "Pass? But these are my special pancakes! I put extra love into them!"

Twilight leans in, inspecting the stack with a curious expression. "They do look good," she admits.

"Then you eat them," you say, pushing the plate toward her.

Twilight shrugs, lifting a pancake with her magic and taking a bite. Her eyes widen. "Wow, Pinkie, these are amazing!"

"See?" Pinkie says, grinning triumphantly. "Even Ms. Brainiac loves them!"

Twilight shoots her a playful glare. "Brainiac?"

Pinkie giggles, then turns back to you with a determined look. "Your turn, Mr. Grumpy Hoodie."

You lean back on the couch, crossing your arms. "I’m good."

Pinkie’s grin doesn’t waver. Instead, she inches closer, her big blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Come onnnnnn. Just one bite. You know you want to."

"No, I don’t," you reply, holding your ground.

She tilts her head, her expression turning calculating. "What if I promise to stop calling you Mr. Grumpy Hoodie?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You’d actually stop?"

Pinkie nods solemnly. "Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye."

You glance at Twilight, who just shrugs as if to say, She’s serious. With a heavy sigh, you pick up a fork and cut a small piece of pancake. Pinkie watches with barely contained excitement as you take a bite.

…It’s really good.

You chew slowly, unwilling to admit it, but Pinkie must see the slight softening of your expression because she squeals with delight. "You like it! I knew you would!"

"Don’t get cocky," you grumble, finishing the bite. "It’s… fine."

Twilight smirks, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "High praise from him."

Pinkie bounces in place, her energy somehow increasing. "This calls for a celebration pancake! I’ll add sprinkles to the next batch!"

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. "I made a mistake. I should’ve kicked you both out when I had the chance."

Twilight sits down across from you, her smile softening. "Admit it, you’re having fun."

"Not even a little," you mutter, refusing to meet her gaze.

Pinkie laughs, flipping more pancakes in the kitchen. "Don’t worry, Mr. Gr—uh, I mean, neighbor. We’ll grow on you. Like frosting on a cupcake!"

You glare at Twilight, who just shrugs innocently. "Told you, friendship is inevitable," she says.

"Friendship," you mutter. "More like an infestation."

Turns Out Solitude Isn’t as Peaceful When You’re Screaming.

Pinkie flips another pancake onto a growing stack, humming an upbeat tune that grates against your nerves. Twilight, having abandoned her finished plate of pancakes, is now examining your bookshelf, her nose scrunching as she reads the titles.

"You sure have a lot of books about fixing stuff," Twilight remarks, levitating a dog-eared manual off the shelf. "And these are all... human devices? Fascinating!"

"They’re not fascinating," you snap, glaring at her over the back of the couch. "They’re just tools. You break something, you fix it. End of story."

Twilight ignores your tone, flipping through the manual with keen interest. "But some of these concepts are so advanced! This one’s about internal combustion engines. Do all humans use these?"

"Most," you reply reluctantly. "Not that it matters here. I doubt your ponies have cars."

"Cars?" she echoes, tilting her head. "What are those?"

Before you can answer, Pinkie pops her head out of the kitchen, balancing a new stack of pancakes on her back. "Cars are those big noisy things that go zoom-zoom, right? Like wagons, but without ponies pulling them!"

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. "How do you know what a car is?"

Pinkie shrugs, setting the pancakes down on the table with a cheerful grin. "I dunno! Just kinda sounds like something that would go zoom-zoom, doesn’t it?"

You stare at her for a moment, trying to decide if she’s messing with you. Eventually, you shake your head. "Sure. Whatever."

Twilight, on the other hand, looks genuinely curious. "So, how do they work?"

You lean back, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah. Basically, it’s a machine that burns fuel—usually gasoline—to create energy. That energy moves parts inside the engine, which then makes the car’s wheels turn. There’s more to it, but that’s the gist."

Twilight’s eyes widen, her notebook already floating out of her bag. "That’s incredible. So humans can travel without needing other creatures to pull them? That must revolutionize transportation!"

"It does," you admit, shrugging. "Cars let us go wherever we want, whenever we want. No waiting for schedules or depending on anyone else. Just get in, turn the key, and you’re off."

Pinkie gasps, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "That sounds amazing! Do you have one of these cars with you?"

You snort. "No. My house came along for the ride, but my car didn’t. Not that it would do me much good here. You guys don’t exactly have roads, my clanker wouldn't make it two miles."

Pinkie nods solemnly, like this is a great tragedy. "That’s too bad. I bet it would’ve been so fun to see a car zooming around Ponyville!"

Twilight jots down another note, her expression thoughtful. "And you mentioned gasoline as fuel? Is that something you refine yourself, or is it supplied by others?"

"It’s a whole industry," you explain. "Companies drill for oil, refine it into gasoline, and then sell it at gas stations. It’s complicated, but it works."

Twilight hums, clearly fascinated. "It sounds like humans rely heavily on technology and infrastructure."

"Yeah, we do," you reply, leaning forward slightly. "It’s not like here, where you’ve got magic to solve all your problems. If something breaks in our world, you either fix it or figure out a way to live without it."

Twilight nods slowly, her gaze distant as she processes the information. Pinkie, meanwhile, looks up from her pancakes and tilts her head.

"But if you could have magic and cars, wouldn’t that be, like, the best of both worlds?" she asks.

You smirk faintly. "Maybe. But humans don’t have magic, so we’ve learned to get by without it."

Twilight looks up, her quill hovering in mid-air. "It’s impressive," she says quietly. "What your kind has accomplished without magic—it’s nothing short of extraordinary."

"Yeah, well, it’s just how we are," you reply, your tone dismissive. "Now, can we move on? I’m not exactly in the mood to teach a class."

Twilight smiles faintly, but she doesn’t push further. Instead, she goes back to her notes, and Pinkie starts brainstorming aloud about what a "car party" might look like.

You close your eyes and lean back against the couch, letting their chatter fade into the background. At least they’re preoccupied—for now.

Pinkie and Twilight continue chattering, their voices blending into an incessant hum that grates on your nerves. You slump further into the couch, rubbing your temples as they speculate on the wonders of human transportation.

"You know," Pinkie says, her voice bright and chirpy, "if humans can build cars, they must have all sorts of other cool inventions! Do you have a giant machine that makes cupcakes? Or, or, maybe a hat that plays music?"

You let out a long, slow sigh. "We have cupcake machines, sure. They’re called ovens. And no, we don’t wear music hats."

Pinkie tilts her head, her mane bouncing. "You sound grumpy again."

"I was grumpy before," you mutter, glaring at her. "That’s my default state."

Twilight looks up from her notes, raising an eyebrow. "So you're admitting it now? For someone who says they want peace and quiet, you sure do put up with a lot."

"I don’t have a choice," you snap. "You two just walked in and decided this was your new hangout spot."

Twilight smirks, clearly enjoying the pushback. "You could’ve kicked us out by now. But you haven’t."

"Because I’m not a lunatic who throws ponies into the street," you shoot back, sitting up. "But that doesn’t mean I want you here."

Pinkie gasps dramatically. "You don’t want us here? But we’re so fun! And friendly! And—"

"Loud," you interrupt, glaring at her. "You’re loud. Both of you. Constantly."

Pinkie’s ears fold back for a moment before perking up again. "Well, yeah! Loud is fun!"

"Loud is annoying," you counter, running a hand through your hair. "Why don’t you two go back to Ponyville and be loud there?"

"But we’re learning so much from you!" Twilight interjects, her tone far too smug for your liking. "Think of it as cultural exchange. You tell us about your world, and we... brighten up yours."

"My world doesn’t need brightening," you grumble. "It was fine before you showed up."

"Was it?" Twilight asks, her tone softer now, almost curious. "Because from what I can tell, you’ve been alone for a long time. Maybe you’re not as fine as you think."

You stiffen, your jaw tightening. "Don’t psychoanalyze me, Sparkle."

"I’m just saying," she continues, undeterred, "there’s nothing wrong with a little company now and then. Even if you don’t realize you need it."

You glare at her, but she holds your gaze, her expression unreadable. Pinkie, meanwhile, looks back and forth between the two of you, her mouth slightly open like she’s watching a particularly tense game.

"Company isn’t the same as chaos," you finally say, your voice low. "And you two are chaos."

Pinkie grins, bouncing in place. "Ooh, chaos! I like the sound of that!"

"Of course you do," you mutter, leaning back against the couch. "Just... keep it down for five minutes, would you? I need a break."

Twilight exchanges a glance with Pinkie, who nods dramatically. "Okay! Five minutes of quiet! Starting... now!"

For a blessed moment, the room falls silent. You close your eyes, savoring the peace, only for it to be broken seconds later by the sound of Pinkie loudly whispering, "Do you think he’s enjoying the quiet?"

Your eyes snap open, and you shoot her a withering look. "It’s not quiet if you’re whispering."

Pinkie slaps a hoof over her mouth, her eyes wide. Twilight chuckles softly, clearly amused by your plight.

"Good luck with that," Twilight says, her tone teasing. "Pinkie doesn’t do quiet."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "I’m doomed."

Twilight smirks, and Pinkie hums cheerfully as if nothing’s wrong.

Pinkie suddenly gasps, her ears perking up. "Oh no, I almost forgot! I have to get back to Sugarcube Corner! The Cakes are going to need me to watch the twins today!" She hops up and starts bouncing toward the door.

"Finally," you mutter under your breath, though not quietly enough, earning a sharp look from Twilight.

Pinkie stops in her tracks and turns to you with a wide grin. "Oh! Before I go, I just wanted to say this was so much fun! You’re like a puzzle wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a—"

"A headache?" you interrupt.

"A mystery!" Pinkie finishes brightly. She giggles and waves a hoof. "I’ll be back later to check on you, neighbor! Bye, Twilight! Bye, Mr. Grumpy—" She cuts herself off mid-sentence, her eyes widening. "Oh! I almost said it! But I Pinkie Promised, and a Pinkie Promise is forever!"

"Good. Stick to it," you grumble.

Pinkie nods vigorously. "Don’t worry! I’ll come up with a new nickname for you next time. Something extra special!" With that, she bounds out the door, leaving behind only the faint smell of sugar and the faint sound of her humming as she bounces away.

You slump back into the couch, letting out a long, relieved breath. "Finally."

Twilight raises an eyebrow at you. "You know, she’s just trying to be nice. She’s really good at cheering ponies up."

"I don’t need cheering up," you snap. "I need quiet. And now that she’s gone, maybe I’ll actually get some."

Twilight smirks, her quill hovering over her notebook again. "Are you sure about that? Because you’ve still got me."

"Great," you mutter sarcastically. "Lucky me."

Twilight chuckles, flipping to a new page in her notebook. "I think I’m starting to understand you, you know. You pretend to be all gruff and annoyed, but deep down—"

"Deep down, I’m annoyed," you cut her off, narrowing your eyes. "End of story."

Twilight just shakes her head, her smirk unwavering. "If you say so. But I think Pinkie’s right. You’re like a puzzle. And I like puzzles."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Why me? Why couldn’t it have been someone else’s house that got dragged into pony land?"

Twilight tilts her head thoughtfully. "Maybe it’s because you needed it the most."

"Needed what?" you ask, glaring at her.

"An adventure," she replies simply, her tone almost playful. "A chance to see things differently. To meet new creatures. To make—"

"Don’t say it," you warn, pointing a finger at her.

She grins mischievously. "Friends."

You drop your head back against the couch with a groan.

Twilight doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when you glance at her, she’s scribbling something in her notebook, a thoughtful look on her face. Whatever she’s planning, you’re certain it’s going to be just as exhausting as Pinkie’s antics.

"Are you staying long enough to take over the rest of my house too, or are you leaving soon?" you ask, your voice laced with irritation.

Twilight looks up, her expression innocent. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of overstaying my welcome."

"You’re already there," you deadpan.

She giggles softly. "Fine, fine. I’ll leave soon. But only because I have some errands to run. You’re not getting rid of me that easily."

"Great," you mutter, closing your eyes. "Something to look forward to."

Twilight doesn’t respond immediately, and for a brief moment, the house is quiet. You allow yourself to relax, if only slightly, knowing full well it won’t last.

The silence lingers longer than you expect. Suspiciously long. You crack open an eye, glancing toward Twilight, only to find her still seated across from you, her notebook and quill floating idly in her magic. She’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite read—somewhere between curiosity and quiet amusement.

"What?" you ask, your tone sharp enough to cut through the stillness.

She blinks, as if caught off guard. "Nothing," she says, closing her notebook with a snap. "Just thinking."

"That’s never a good sign," you mutter, sitting up straighter. "What now? You going to ask me about the history of screwdrivers or something?"

Twilight snorts softly, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I was just wondering how you’re adjusting. You know, to all of... this." She waves a hoof vaguely around the room.

"Adjusting?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "I’m not adjusting. I’m surviving. There’s a difference."

Twilight tilts her head, her ears twitching thoughtfully. "But you’re surviving well enough, aren’t you? You’ve got a house, food, running water… It’s more than some ponies start with."

"Yeah, lucky me," you say flatly. "Dropped into a world of talking ponies with no way back. Real jackpot."

Twilight’s smile falters slightly, and for a moment, she looks almost guilty. "I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant... well, you’re managing better than most creatures would in your position."

"Thanks," you say dryly. "I’ll be sure to put that on a motivational poster. 'Surviving: Better Than Nothing.'"

She chuckles softly, but there’s a flicker of something more serious in her eyes. "You know, if you ever need help... real help, not Pinkie’s brand of chaos... you can ask me."

You look at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. For a moment, you almost believe her. Almost.

"I don’t need help," you say, turning away. "I’ve been handling myself just fine."

Twilight nods slowly, not pressing the issue. Instead, she rises to her hooves, her magic neatly tucking her notebook and quill back into her saddlebag. "Well, I suppose I should head out too. I do have some research to finish back at the library."

"Good idea," you reply, already standing to open the door. "The sooner, the better."

Twilight pauses for a moment, as if she wants to say something else, but instead she offers a small nod and steps outside. You watch her trot down the path, her tail swishing behind her until she disappears into the trees.

The house feels empty now, unnervingly so. The quiet gnaws at you, and after a few minutes, you stand abruptly, heading for the back room where you keep your gear.

You grab your hunting rifle, the familiar weight of it in your hands grounding you. Slinging it over your shoulder, you check the pockets of your jacket for ammunition, and sticking a bit of rope in your pocket before heading to the back door. The Everfree Forest looms just beyond your backyard, its dense, shadowy trees practically daring you to enter.

You’ve gone hunting before—back home. This can’t be all that different, you reason. Sure, the forest looks a little more... untamed. And maybe the animals are a bit bigger. But it’s just a forest. What’s the worst that could happen?

The air grows cooler as you step into the treeline, the familiar sounds of birdsong replaced by an eerie stillness. The undergrowth is thick, the ground uneven beneath your boots. You keep your rifle at the ready, eyes scanning for movement. The weight of the forest presses down on you, but you shake it off.

It’s just a forest.

As you move deeper, you catch sight of tracks in the soft earth—something large, with claws. You crouch down, running your fingers over the indentations. Fresh. Your pulse quickens, more from excitement than fear. Whatever this thing is, it’s big, and it’s close.

You press on, the tracks leading you toward a small clearing. The sunlight filters weakly through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across the grass. At the center of the clearing stands a massive buck-like creature with antlers that seem to shimmer faintly in the light. Its coat is a strange mix of earthy tones, blending almost seamlessly with the forest around it.

You freeze, heart pounding. This thing isn’t like anything you’ve ever hunted before. It’s otherworldly, majestic in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, you hesitate, your finger hovering over the trigger.

Then, something snaps in the woods behind you.

You spin around, your rifle raised, but there’s nothing there—just the dense, impenetrable wall of trees. The silence is deafening now, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves. You turn back to the clearing, but the creature is gone, leaving no trace it was ever there.

A low growl rumbles through the air, sending a chill down your spine. It’s close. Too close.

The undergrowth rustles, and your heart races as a shadow looms larger than you expected. A low, guttural growl vibrates through the air, and from the trees steps a manticore. Its massive frame is a terrifying blend of lion, scorpion, and bat, with a thick mane, leathery wings that spread wide, and a barbed tail that flicks menacingly behind it. Its golden eyes lock onto you, pupils narrowing as it snarls, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

Your breath catches, and you instinctively raise your rifle. The manticore steps closer, its muscles rippling under its tawny coat. It doesn’t charge—yet—but the tension in its stance tells you it’s deciding whether you’re a threat, a meal, or both.

"Alright," you mutter under your breath, adjusting your grip on the rifle. "Time to rethink this whole 'hunting in magical pony land' thing."

The manticore growls again, its wings giving a warning flap. You slowly back away, keeping the rifle trained on its chest, but the beast mirrors your movements, matching you step for step. Its tail arches high, the wicked barb glistening even in the dim light of the forest.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you weigh your options. You’ve got one shot—maybe two—before it closes the gap. You glance around, searching for anything that could give you an edge, but the forest offers no help. It’s just you and the manticore now, locked in a deadly standoff.

"How did I forget?" you mutter bitterly, barely a whisper. "I knew manticores were here. I just—" You cut yourself off as the manticore’s ears twitch and its snarl deepens, any excuse you could muster swallowed by the encroaching danger.

The manticore's growl reverberates through the clearing, the sound almost tangible as it echoes off the trees. You steady your breathing, your finger brushing the rifle's trigger. It takes another step forward, its claws sinking into the soft earth, and your heart pounds in your chest.

"Alright, big guy," you mutter, trying to sound calm. "We don’t have to do this."

The manticore flicks its tail, the barbed tip slicing through the air like a whip. It doesn’t seem inclined to negotiate.

You shift your stance, planting your feet firmly as you aim at its chest. One shot. That’s all you’ll have before it’s on you. Your mind races, calculating the odds of stopping something this size with what you’ve got. They’re not good.

Then it lunges.

Your instincts take over, and you fire. The crack of the rifle shatters the quiet of the forest, the recoil jolting your shoulder. The bullet hits its mark, striking the manticore square in the chest. It lets out a roar of pain and rage, but instead of dropping, it charges harder, its wings unfurling as it bounds toward you.

"Shit!" you shout, scrambling backward. You fire again, the second shot grazing its shoulder. It barely slows the beast as it barrels toward you, its claws ripping through the ground.

Desperation takes hold, and you dive to the side as the manticore swipes at you, its claws narrowly missing your torso. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs, but you roll to your feet, clutching the rifle like a lifeline.

The manticore pivots, its eyes blazing with fury. Blood trickles from its chest and shoulder, but the injuries seem to fuel its rage rather than weaken it. It snarls, pawing at the ground as it prepares to pounce again.

You don’t wait. Slinging the rifle over your shoulder, you turn and bolt into the forest, your boots pounding against the uneven ground. The manticore’s roar follows you, a chilling reminder of how close it is. You duck under low-hanging branches and weave between trees, adrenaline propelling you forward.

Behind you, the sound of snapping branches and heavy footsteps grows louder. The manticore is fast—faster than you—and it’s gaining.

You burst into a small ravine, your boots sliding on loose gravel as you descend. The manticore doesn’t hesitate, leaping down after you, its wings giving it an extra boost. You spot a narrow crevice in the rock wall ahead and make a split-second decision, diving into the gap just as the manticore lunges.

The beast crashes into the rock face, roaring in frustration as its claws scrabble at the entrance to the crevice. You press yourself against the cold stone, panting and clutching the rifle as the manticore snarls and tries to force its way in. Its barbed tail lashes out, striking the edge of the crevice and sending shards of stone flying.

"Not good," you mutter, your voice barely audible over the beast’s fury. You check the rifle—five rounds left. It has to be enough.

The manticore backs up slightly, preparing for another lunge. You seize the opportunity, quickly loading another bullet into the rifle with shakey hands. This time, you steady yourself, bracing against the stone for a better shot.

When the manticore lunges again, you fire. The bullet strikes true, hitting just above its left eye. The beast lets out a strangled roar before collapsing in a heap, its momentum carrying it halfway into the crevice. For a moment, all you hear is your own ragged breathing and the faint rustle of the forest.

Your hands shake as you keep the rifle trained on the creature, heart pounding. It doesn’t stir, but you’re not taking any chances. You step closer, steadying yourself, and fire another shot into its chest. The sound echoes through the trees, and the manticore’s massive form jolts slightly before going still.

You nudge the creature with your boot, making sure it’s dead. Its massive form doesn’t move, and you exhale shakily, leaning against the rock for support.

"Guess I win," you mutter, wiping sweat from your brow.

It takes a moment for the reality of what you’ve done to sink in. You glance at the rifle, then at the manticore’s body. The memory of the fight flashes in your mind—the claws swiping dangerously close, the way it snarled as if it was going to take you down. It almost did. You scowl, the stubbornness rising in your chest. Dragging it back to the house is going to be a nightmare, but leaving it out here to rot? No chance. If it thought it could have you, then you'll make damn sure it ends up on your plate.

Grabbing a length of rope from your jacket pocket, you tie it securely around the manticore’s front legs. The creature is heavy—far heavier than anything you’ve hunted before—but you grit your teeth and start pulling. The trek back to your house is slow and grueling, every step an exercise in endurance as you drag the beast through the dense forest.

By the time you reach your backyard, your muscles ache, and your shirt is soaked with sweat. You drop the rope and collapse onto the grass, staring up at the sky as you catch your breath.

"Never doing that again," you mutter to yourself, though you know it’s probably a lie.

The manticore lies motionless behind you, a testament to your reckless decision-making. For now, though, you’re just glad to be alive.

The manticore's massive body looms in your backyard, its wings sprawled awkwardly across the grass. You sit on the porch, staring at it, the rifle resting across your lap. The adrenaline has faded, leaving you with the realization of your next challenge.

"Now what?" you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your sweat-damp hair.

You’ve skinned and butchered deer before, but this thing is something else entirely. Its fur, leathery wings, and the barbed tail don’t exactly scream "edible," and you can only imagine what kind of magical toxins might be lurking in its flesh. Still, food is food, and you’re not about to let it go to waste after dragging it all the way back here.

Standing up, you grab a hatchet and hunting knife from inside the house, along with a tarp to keep things somewhat clean. The sight of the manticore up close gives you pause—its claws look like they could tear through steel, and its teeth are almost wolf-like in their sharpness. You shake off the unease and get to work.

The first challenge is getting through its hide. The fur and skin are tough, far tougher than any animal you’ve ever dealt with. You have to use the hatchet just to make an initial cut along its belly. Once you’ve broken through, the smell hits you—earthy and metallic, with an odd sweetness that makes you gag.

"Great. Just great," you mutter, pulling your shirt over your nose.

You work carefully, peeling back the layers of hide to reveal the meat underneath. It’s darker than you expected, almost red-black, and streaked with sinew. You pause, poking at it with the tip of your knife. It doesn’t look poisonous, but it doesn’t look particularly appetizing, either.

"Guess there’s only one way to find out," you mutter grimly.

You carve off a small piece of meat, careful to avoid the organs and anything that looks remotely toxic. The tail, in particular, gives you pause; the venom sac near the barb looks like something you don’t want anywhere near your food. You cut it off entirely and toss it far into the woods, just to be safe.

Back in the house, you grab a frying pan and some oil. The manticore meat sizzles as it hits the pan, filling the kitchen with a smell that’s equal parts savory and strange. You watch it cook, your stomach growling despite your reservations.

Once it’s done, you slide the piece onto a plate and stare at it. It’s small, seared on the outside, and still faintly red in the center. You pick it up with a fork, hesitating as you bring it to your mouth.

"Here goes nothing," you mutter before taking a bite.

The taste is… surprising. Rich and gamey, but not unpleasant. There’s a hint of something you can’t place, almost like wild herbs. You chew slowly, waiting for any signs of poisoning or magical side effects. When nothing happens, you swallow and sit back.

"Not bad," you admit to the empty room.

Satisfied that it’s safe to eat, you go back outside to process more of the meat. It’s messy, exhausting work, but by the time the sun starts to set, you’ve managed to carve out several cuts and store them in the cooler. The rest of the carcass you bury in a shallow grave near the edge of the woods, far enough from the house to avoid attracting predators—or worse.

As you clean your tools and wash the blood off your hands, you glance at the forest, its shadows deepening in the twilight. The Everfree feels alive, watching, waiting. You can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be your last encounter with its creatures.

"Next time," you mutter to yourself, "I’m sticking to canned food."

We’re Waiting, Just Beyond the Light.

The night settles over the Everfree Forest, shrouding your house in an eerie stillness. You sit inside, the rifle propped up against the wall near the door. The events of the day weigh heavily on your mind, and you can’t help but glance at the window every so often, half expecting something to come out of the woods seeking vengeance for the manticore.

The house creaks as the night air cools, each sound setting your nerves on edge. You’ve locked the doors and even barricaded the windows, but the Everfree doesn’t care about locks. You know that now.

A faint knock at the door shatters the silence.

Your heart jumps into your throat, and you grab the rifle instinctively, pointing it toward the door. Another knock follows, this one more insistent. You hesitate, gripping the weapon tightly as your mind races. What could it be? Another manticore? Something worse?

Then a familiar voice calls out. "Hello? Are you in there? It’s me, Twilight!"

You lower the rifle slightly, your pulse still pounding. What is she doing here? And at this hour? Reluctantly, you walk to the door, keeping the rifle in hand as you peer through the peephole.

Sure enough, it’s Twilight, her purple coat faintly illuminated by the moonlight. But her expression is far from her usual smug confidence—it’s a mix of concern and unease. Her eyes dart to the ground in front of the house, where streaks of dried blood and drag marks lead toward the woods.

"Please open the door," she calls, her tone urgent. "I need to make sure you’re okay!"

You sigh, unlocking the door and opening it just enough to see her face. "What do you want, Twilight?"

Her eyes widen as she takes in your disheveled appearance—the bloodstains on your shirt, the bags under your eyes. "What happened here?" she asks, her voice sharp. "There’s blood everywhere! Are you hurt?"

You glance past her to the mess outside and curse under your breath. "It’s not mine," you say quickly, stepping back and lowering the rifle. "I’m fine."

Twilight doesn’t seem convinced. She pushes the door open further and steps inside, her eyes scanning the room for any signs of trouble. "Then whose is it?" she demands. "What did you do?"

You groan, leaning the rifle against the wall. "I went hunting, alright? Took down something big. That’s all."

Her ears flatten against her head, and she takes a cautious step back. "What... kind of something?"

You rub the back of your neck, avoiding her gaze. "A manticore," you admit finally. "It attacked me. I didn’t have much of a choice."

Twilight’s jaw drops. "A manticore? You killed a manticore?"

"Yeah, and I’m still here to talk about it, so I’d call that a win," you snap, already regretting letting her in.

Twilight’s expression shifts, her concern growing. She glances at the rifle, then back at you. "You really don’t understand how dangerous the Everfree is, do you?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah, I got the memo," you reply, sitting heavily in a chair. "Big scary creatures. Don’t go out alone. Too late for that."

Twilight narrows her eyes, stepping closer. "This isn’t a joke. If you keep going out there, you’re going to get yourself killed."

You exhale slowly, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees. "You’re right," you admit grudgingly. "I’m not going back out there. I don’t care how much food I’ve got stored—I’m staying out of those woods."

Twilight seems momentarily surprised by your agreement, her stern expression softening. "Good," she says firmly. "You’ve been lucky so far, but luck runs out."

She pauses, her eyes flicking around the room as if searching for something. "It’s late," she adds. "You shouldn’t be alone after something like this."

You blink at her, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Exactly what I said," Twilight replies, stepping past you without waiting for an invitation. "You’ve had a long day, and you need rest. I’m staying to make sure you’re okay."

"Wait—what?" you sputter, watching as she strides toward the hallway like she owns the place.

She glances over her shoulder, her tone casual. "You let me stay last time, so it’s fine, right? I’ll take the bed again. You can stay on your side."

"You can’t just—" you begin, but she’s already disappeared into your room.

For a moment, you just stand there, too stunned to react. Then, with a growl of frustration, you grab the rifle and lean it against the wall before following her down the hall.

Twilight is already on the bed, her tail curled neatly around her legs as she fluffs one of your pillows with her magic. She looks up as you enter, completely unfazed by your glare.

"What?" she asks innocently. "It’s a big bed. Plenty of room for both of us."

"You’re unbelievable," you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. "This is my house."

"And I’m your friend," she replies, her tone sweet but firm. "Friends look out for each other."

"Friends don’t take over other friends’ beds," you counter.

Twilight just smirks, patting the space next to her. "Come on. It’s late, and you need sleep. Don’t make a big deal out of it."

You groan, but you’re too exhausted to argue. Muttering curses under your breath, you climb into the bed, keeping as much distance between you and Twilight as possible.

"If you snore, I’m throwing you out," you warn.

Twilight chuckles softly, her voice already heavy with drowsiness. "Goodnight."

You close your eyes, wondering how you let things get to this point. The day has been long, and the night isn’t shaping up to be much better. Still, as much as you hate to admit it, having someone else in the house makes the darkness outside feel a little less oppressive. Not that you’d ever tell her that.

The sun creeps over the horizon, casting a warm glow through your bedroom window. You crack an eye open, the events of the previous day rushing back to you. The Everfree, the manticore, the blood—it all feels like a fever dream. But the weight of the bed shifting beside you quickly grounds you in reality.

Twilight stretches, letting out a soft, cat-like yawn. Her tail flicks lazily as she sits up, rubbing her eyes with a hoof. She looks far too relaxed for someone who commandeered your bed the night before.

"Morning," she says cheerfully, her voice bright despite the early hour.

You groan, turning over to face the wall. "Do you always wake up this chipper?"

"Not always," she replies, hopping off the bed with a bounce in her step. "But today’s a new day! And after what happened yesterday, I think we should focus on making things safer for you."

You sit up abruptly, running a hand through your hair. "Making things safer? Twilight, I already said I’m not going back into the forest."

"I know," she says, her tone patient but insistent. "But you’re still living right on the edge of it. What if another creature comes after you? You need more than just barricades."

You groan, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "And what exactly do you suggest? A magical force field? Some kind of pony alarm system?"

Twilight’s eyes light up. "Actually, that’s not a bad idea! I could enchant something to alert you if anything dangerous gets too close to your house."

You pause, blinking at her. "You were joking, weren’t you?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Yeah," you mutter. "But I guess if it keeps things like manticores off my porch, I’ll take it."

Twilight’s ears perk up, and she grins. "Great! I’ll need some time to figure out the spellwork, but in the meantime, you should think about reinforcing your defenses. Maybe build a proper fence around the property?"

"Right," you reply dryly. "Because a wooden fence will definitely stop something like a manticore."

Twilight rolls her eyes. "It’s not just about stopping them; it’s about deterring them. Most creatures don’t bother with obstacles unless they have a reason to."

You rub your temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Fine. We’ll see."

Satisfied, Twilight trots out of the bedroom, humming to herself. You follow her reluctantly, your stomach growling as you realize you haven’t eaten since yesterday.

In the kitchen, Twilight is already rummaging through your cabinets, levitating items here and there with her magic. "Do you have any tea?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder.

"No," you reply, grabbing a piece of bread and popping it into the toaster. "I’m more of a coffee guy."

Twilight makes a face. "Coffee is so bitter. I don’t know how you can drink it."

"Helps me tolerate mornings like this," you say, pouring water into the coffee maker.

She smirks but doesn’t comment, returning her focus to the cabinets. "You know, you should really organize these better. It’s hard to find anything."

You shoot her a look. "Twilight, you’re lucky I didn’t toss you out last night. Don’t push it."

She laughs softly, pulling a box of oats from the shelf. "Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now."

The morning passes in a strange mix of silence and small talk, Twilight jotting down notes in her ever-present notebook while you work on reinforcing your back door. She offers suggestions here and there—some useful, some absurd—but for the most part, she lets you work in peace.

As midday approaches, Twilight sets down her notebook and looks at you with a determined expression. "Alright, I’m heading back to Ponyville to get some supplies for that enchantment. I’ll be back later this afternoon."

You raise an eyebrow. "You’re coming back?"

"Of course," she says with a smile. "I told you I’d help, didn’t I?"

You sigh, leaning against the doorframe. "Fine. Just don’t drag half the town with you."

She grins mischievously. "No promises."

With that, she trots out the door, leaving you to your thoughts. The house feels quieter without her, but not in the peaceful way you expected. You shake it off, grabbing your tools and getting back to work. You’re not about to let the Everfree get the better of you.

The afternoon passes quietly, save for the occasional creak of the forest and the rhythmic pounding of your hammer as you reinforce the back door. You’ve managed to scavenge enough spare wood and nails to make it sturdy, though you doubt it’ll hold up to anything larger than a manticore’s curiosity. Still, it’s better than nothing.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and glance at the clock. Twilight’s been gone for hours, and you start to wonder if she got distracted by some new book or pony project. Good, you think. Maybe she’ll forget about coming back entirely.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, there’s a loud knock at the door.

You sigh, setting down your tools. "Of course," you mutter, heading to the front door. You open it to find Twilight standing there, beaming up at you. But she’s not alone. Behind her are three more ponies: a blue one with wings, a white one with a styled mane, and a yellow one half-hiding behind the others.

"Hi again!" Twilight chirps. "I brought some friends to help!"

You stare at them, dumbfounded. "Help with what?"

"Everything!" she replies enthusiastically, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. The other ponies follow her, though the yellow one lingers hesitantly near the door.

"Twilight," you say, your voice low and already laced with irritation, "why are there more of you in my house?"

Twilight glances back at you, unbothered. "Well, you said you needed to reinforce your defenses, and that’s a big job for one person! So I figured, why not bring some extra hooves?"

The blue one flutters her wings and grins. "Yeah, Twilight said you fought a manticore! That’s awesome. I’m Rainbow Dash, by the way. Fastest flyer in Equestria. I could help keep an eye out for more of those things if you want."

The white one steps forward, eyeing the state of your living room with barely concealed distaste. "Rarity, darling. Twilight insisted we come, though I must say, this place could use a little sprucing up. A touch of fabric here, some proper furniture there—"

"Stop," you say, holding up a hand. "Just... stop. I didn’t ask for this."

Twilight gives you an exasperated look. "You didn’t have to. Friends help each other, and after what you went through yesterday, you could use it."

The yellow one peeks around the doorframe, her voice barely above a whisper. "Um, I’m Fluttershy. I—I could maybe help with the animals around here? If that’s okay..."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Look," you say, your tone sharp, "I appreciate the... enthusiasm, but I don’t need a team of ponies invading my house. I was handling things just fine before."

Twilight raises an eyebrow. "Were you? Because from what I saw yesterday, ‘just fine’ involved a lot of blood and a near-death experience."

You open your mouth to argue, but Rainbow Dash cuts in. "Relax, dude. We’re not here to mess up your vibe or whatever. Just tell us what needs doing, and we’ll make it awesome."

You glare at Twilight. "I said no townies."

She smirks. "You didn’t say no friends."

Rarity gasps dramatically. "You mean we’re friends now? How delightful!"

"We’re not," you say quickly, glaring at her.

"Oh, don’t be so shy, darling," she says, waving a hoof dismissively. "Now, where do you keep your linens? I can at least get started on these dreadful curtains."

"Don’t touch my curtains!" you snap, but Rarity is already trotting off to inspect them.

Twilight gives you an apologetic smile. "Don’t worry, they’ll grow on you."

"I don’t want them to grow on me," you reply through gritted teeth. "I want them out of my house."

Rainbow Dash chuckles, flopping onto your couch like she owns it. "Yeah, good luck with that. Twilight’s pretty persistent."

Fluttershy quietly steps inside, glancing nervously at you. "I—I can stay outside if it’s too much..." She sounds like she's about to cry, and you flinch a bit, unused to dealing with softies.

You look left, then right, then you slump a bit, refusing to meet her eyes. "No, you’re fine. Just... don’t rearrange my life, okay?"

She nods quickly, retreating to a corner like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible.

Twilight steps closer, her tone softening. "We’re just trying to help. Let us do that."

You stare at her, weighing your options. Fighting her on this feels like a losing battle, and you don’t have the energy for it. With a groan, you wave them off. "Fine. Do whatever. But if you break anything, you’re fixing it."

"Deal," Twilight says with a triumphant grin.

You slump back into a chair, watching as the ponies spread out across the house like they’ve already moved in. Your grumpiness deepens with every passing second, but at least the chaos keeps the lingering dread of the forest at bay.

For now.

You sit on the porch, arms crossed, glaring at the scene unfolding in your yard. The ponies are surprisingly industrious, though you’re not sure if that’s a good thing. Twilight is in the middle of a circle of sticks and stones she’s laid out, her horn glowing as she murmurs to herself. Rainbow Dash is hovering a few feet above the ground, hammering at what you assume is meant to be the framework for a fence, though her technique leaves a lot to be desired.

Rarity, of course, is nowhere near the manual labor. Instead, she’s fussing over the tarp you laid out to process the manticore, levitating bits of fabric from her saddlebags to "brighten up the space."

Fluttershy lingers near the treeline, speaking softly to something in the undergrowth. Every so often, she glances back at you as if to make sure you’re still there, her shy demeanor doing little to ease your irritation.

You lean back in your chair, muttering to yourself. "Didn’t ask for any of this."

Twilight’s ears twitch, and she glances up from her work. "What was that?"

"Nothing," you say quickly, though your glare remains firmly in place.

"Relax," she says, smiling as she adjusts one of the stones in her circle. "You’ll thank us when this place is more secure."

"I doubt that," you reply, watching Rainbow Dash drop another nail and grumble as she searches for it. "And I don’t see how you’re going to make this ‘secure’ with a bunch of rocks and some shoddy woodwork."

Twilight raises an eyebrow but doesn’t rise to the bait. "The stones are for an early-warning enchantment," she explains. "If something dangerous gets too close, you’ll know about it before it reaches the house."

"Great," you mutter. "So I can sit here and wait for whatever it is to show up. Comforting."

Rainbow Dash finally finds her nail and hammers it in with an exaggerated flourish. "You know," she says, hovering closer to you, "you could help instead of just sitting there looking grumpy."

You open your mouth for a sharp retort, but then you stop. As much as you hate to admit it, she has a point. Sitting there doing nothing feels wrong—especially when the house you rely on is at stake. You grunt and push yourself up out of the chair, brushing dust off your pants.

"Fine," you snap, marching down the steps. "But if I’m doing this, we’re doing it right."

Rainbow Dash smirks. "That’s the spirit!"

"Don’t get used to it," you mutter, grabbing a toolbox from the side of the house. You stride over to the fence she’s been working on, frowning at the uneven planks and poorly placed nails. "What is this supposed to be?"

"A fence," Rainbow says defensively.

"Looks like a disaster waiting to happen," you reply, yanking out one of the crooked nails. "Step back. I’ll show you how it’s done."

The next few hours passe in relative silence as you focus on rebuilding the fence. Rainbow Dash helps where she can, handing you tools and occasionally holding planks in place. To your surprise, she doesn’t complain much—probably because she sees it as a challenge.

Twilight glances up from her enchantment periodically, her expression pleased. "See? Working together isn’t so bad, is it?"

You ignore her, hammering a nail into place with more force than necessary.

Fluttershy cautiously approaches, her voice soft. "Um, I found some smaller branches that might work for reinforcing the windows... if that’s okay?"

You glance at the bundle she’s holding in her mouth. They’re sturdier than you’d expect, and you nod grudgingly. "Fine. Put them by the porch."

Fluttershy smiles shyly and scurries off to do as you asked.

Rarity, meanwhile, trots up to you with an almost regal air. "Darling, while I appreciate your efforts with this fence, I simply must insist on adding some decorative touches. It would elevate the entire aesthetic of the property!"

"Rarity," you say, fixing her with a glare, "this is a fence, not a fashion statement. It’s supposed to keep things out, not win a design contest."

She pouts but backs off, muttering about how "functional doesn’t have to mean ugly."

You work through the afternoon, slowly but surely reinforcing the fence and making minor repairs to the house. The ponies continue their respective tasks, and though you’re loath to admit it, the place is starting to look more fortified.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, Twilight walks over, wiping sweat from her brow. "Not bad," she says, surveying the progress. "I think this will make a big difference."

You stand back, rolling your shoulders. "Yeah, well, it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing."

Twilight smiles, and for once, it’s not the smug kind. "Thanks for helping. I know this isn’t exactly how you planned to spend your day."

"You think?" you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words.

The ponies begin packing up their things, though none of them seem particularly eager to leave. Rainbow Dash hovers near the porch, casually inspecting the roof. Rarity fusses with her saddlebags, clearly finding excuses to linger. Twilight doesn’t even pretend, standing beside you as though she has every intention of sticking around.

"You’re not staying the night again," you say flatly, glaring at her.

Twilight grins, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Why not? I stayed last night, and you survived."

"Because this isn’t a hotel," you snap. "And I don’t need a roommate."

Rainbow Dash snickers. "Yeah, good luck with that. Twilight’s like a barnacle—once she latches on, she doesn’t let go."

Twilight rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. "I’m just making sure everything’s okay after today. It’s my responsibility to help."

"It’s not your responsibility," you counter, gesturing toward the forest. "I’m fine. The house is fine. Everything is fine."

Rarity clears her throat delicately. "Well, darling, I must say, I admire your independence. But surely a little company wouldn’t hurt? It’s... rather isolated out here."

You glare at her, but before you can retort, Fluttershy speaks up. "Um, if it’s alright... maybe we could all come back tomorrow? Just to check in?"

"No," you say quickly, your tone firm.

Twilight smirks, clearly amused by your stubbornness. "We’ll see."

"That’s not a yes," you snap, but she’s already trotting toward the door, her saddlebags floating behind her.

As the others finally begin to leave, Twilight lingers in the doorway, looking over her shoulder with a smug smile. "Don’t worry," she says, "I’ll be back in the morning."

You groan, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "You ponies are impossible."

"And you love it," she replies, her tone teasing as she trots off.

The door clicks shut, and for the first time in hours, the house is silent. Too silent. You stand there for a moment, hand still resting on the doorknob, listening to the faint creaks of the house settling. The sounds feel louder than they should, sharp in the absence of the ponies’ constant chatter.

The air feels heavier now, pressing down on you as you walk through the living room. The tools scattered around from earlier work remain untouched; you should put them away, but the thought feels exhausting. Instead, you linger, your eyes drifting toward the empty chairs where they had been sitting.

You shake your head, rubbing your temples. "It’s better this way," you mutter to yourself. "Quieter."

But as you move through the house, the quiet gnaws at you. The shadows in the corners seem darker, stretching farther than they should. Every creak and groan of the wood under your feet makes you glance toward the windows, half-expecting something to be staring back at you from the forest.

Your eyes flick toward the rifle leaning against the wall, reassuring in its presence. You grab it without thinking, the weight of it in your hands grounding you for a moment. Still, your fingers tighten on the stock as you step into the hallway, the dim light casting long shadows that remind you far too much of the forest.

Your bedroom door is slightly ajar. You push it open cautiously, as though expecting something to leap out at you. The room is still, untouched since this morning, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the bed. To the spot where Twilight had slept the past two nights, her presence annoyingly persistent but undeniably... there.

The covers are still a little rumpled from her last stay. You stare at the indentation on the mattress, your grip on the rifle tightening.

"It’s just a bed," you mutter, though your voice is barely audible.

The image of the manticore flashes through your mind—the weight of its claws digging into the ground, the flash of its fangs as it lunged at you. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you swear you can hear the growl again, low and guttural, echoing in the back of your mind.

You sit on the edge of the bed, rifle still in hand, and let out a shaky breath. Your eyes dart to the window, the darkness outside feeling oppressive, alive. You know logically that nothing is out there—the ponies’ enchantments would warn you if something was—but logic doesn’t do much to calm the instinctual fear clawing at your chest.

The room feels bigger than it should, the emptiness stretching around you like the forest’s shadows. Your gaze drifts back to the bed, to the spot where Twilight had curled up, annoying and smug and entirely too comfortable. It’s stupid, you think, that you’d even notice it feels emptier now. You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, and press a hand to your forehead.

"Pull it together," you tell yourself through gritted teeth. "It’s over. It’s done."

But the image of those glowing green eyes, the roar, the way it had taken everything you had to bring the manticore down... it’s not something you can shake. Not yet.

You glance at the door, half-expecting Twilight to trot back in, smug as ever, telling you what you should be doing. When nothing happens, the silence grows heavier, and you adjust your grip on the rifle.

The hours drag on as you sit on the edge of the bed, rifle resting across your lap. The weight of it is both comforting and suffocating, a reminder of the manticore encounter that refuses to leave your mind. You glance at the clock on the wall—it’s only just past midnight, but it feels like you’ve been sitting there for an eternity.

The room is too quiet. Too still. Your ears strain for any sound, and every small creak of the house or rustle of wind outside sends a jolt of unease through you. You know the forest is out there, vast and wild and full of things you barely understand. The enchantments Twilight set up should make you feel safer, but they don’t. Not really.

You stand abruptly, pacing the room with the rifle still in hand. The air feels stifling, the shadows too long. You glance again at the bed, at the empty spot where Twilight had slept. The indentation is still there, faint but persistent, like a reminder of something you can’t quite name.

Shaking your head, you leave the room, stepping into the hallway. The darkness feels heavier here, and you flick on a light, the harsh glow doing little to dispel the unease settling in your chest. You make your way to the kitchen, filling a glass of water with shaky hands.

As you drink, your gaze drifts to the window above the sink. The forest looms just beyond the yard, its trees swaying gently in the wind. You know it’s just the breeze, but the movement feels deliberate, like the forest itself is alive and watching.

"Stupid," you mutter under your breath, setting the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. "There’s nothing out there."

But the words ring hollow, even to you. You move to the living room, checking the locks on the doors and windows for the third time tonight. Your hands move mechanically, but your mind is elsewhere, replaying the moment the manticore lunged at you. The flash of its claws, the weight of its roar—it’s all too vivid.

You drop onto the couch, staring at the rifle across your lap. Sleep isn’t an option, not with your nerves on edge and your thoughts racing. Instead, you sit there, your eyes fixed on the faint outlines of the forest through the curtains. Every so often, you swear you see movement—shadows shifting, shapes that shouldn’t be there—but when you blink, they’re gone.

Time crawls by. The clock ticks softly in the background, each second feeling like an eternity. You consider turning on the radio, but even the thought of noise feels unbearable. The silence is oppressive, but it’s better than the alternative—better than missing the sound of something scratching at the windows or growling just beyond the tree line.

By the time the first light of dawn begins to creep into the sky, your body aches from sitting so stiffly, and your mind feels like it’s been running in circles all night. You’re exhausted, but the idea of closing your eyes, even for a moment, fills you with unease.

The forest may be quiet now, but you can’t shake the feeling that it’s only biding its time.

Our Gift Knocks, Let It In.

The first rays of sunlight spill through the cracks in the curtains, painting the living room in muted shades of gold. You sit slumped on the couch, rifle resting across your lap, eyes heavy and bloodshot from a sleepless night. The house is silent save for the faint ticking of the clock, but it doesn’t feel peaceful. It feels hollow.

Your head jerks up at the sound of hooves approaching outside. You tighten your grip on the rifle instinctively, your body tense as the hoofbeats grow louder. A sharp knock at the door pulls you fully out of your haze.

"It’s me," Twilight calls, her voice muffled but unmistakable. "Are you awake?"

You take a moment to collect yourself, fingers tightening around the stock of the rifle as you stand. The sunlight streaming through the cracks seems far too bright, and you squint as you open the door to find Twilight standing there, saddlebags slung across her back. Her cheerful expression falters the second she gets a good look at you.

"Wow," she says softly, her ears folding back. "You look... rough."

"Thanks," you mutter, stepping aside to let her in. "Just what I needed to hear."

She hesitates for a moment, then steps inside, her eyes scanning the room. Her gaze immediately lands on the rifle in your hands, her brow furrowing. "You didn’t sleep," she says matter-of-factly.

"Nope," you reply, leaning against the doorframe. "Didn’t feel like it."

Twilight frowns, setting her saddlebags down on the floor. Her eyes drift back to the rifle. "Because of the forest, isn’t it?"

You don’t answer, but the way you shift your grip on the rifle tells her everything she needs to know. She sighs, stepping closer but keeping her tone calm. "You know the enchantments I set up are working, right? Nothing crossed the perimeter last night."

"Doesn’t stop the forest from feeling... wrong," you admit reluctantly, looking away. "It’s like it’s watching. Waiting."

Twilight studies you for a moment, then her horn glows as she gently reaches for the rifle. "First things first, you’re putting this away. You don’t need to carry it around like a security blanket."

You pull it back instinctively, your grip tightening. "It’s not a security blanket. It’s... it’s protection. In case something happens."

Twilight gives you an unimpressed look. "Protection? You haven’t stopped holding it since I got here. It’s practically glued to your hands. Come on, let me put it somewhere safe."

"It stays with me," you snap, holding it closer.

She tilts her head, inspecting it with a mix of curiosity and mild concern. "What even is that thing? It looks like a mini cannon."

You blink at her. "It’s a rifle."

"A... rifle," she repeats, as though trying out the word. "So, like a portable cannon?"

"Not really," you mutter, though the comparison isn’t entirely off. "It’s a firearm. It shoots projectiles—bullets."

Twilight’s eyes widen slightly. "And you used that on the manticore?"

"Yeah," you reply flatly. "It worked, didn’t it?"

"Well, I guess it’s effective," she admits, her horn glowing faintly again. "But that doesn’t mean you need to hold onto it every second. You’re safe now, remember?"

You hesitate, your knuckles white around the stock. The thought of letting it go makes your chest tighten, but Twilight’s steady gaze is somehow both firm and patient. With a sigh, you reluctantly lower the rifle to your lap, though you don’t hand it over.

"Baby steps," she says with a small smile. "I’ll take it. Just trust me."

You don’t move. "It stays close."

"Fine," Twilight says, exhaling as she relents. "But maybe it doesn’t need to stay in your hands all the time, alright? Just... set it down for now. You can still keep it nearby."

Grudgingly, you lean the rifle against the couch, your hand lingering on the stock for a moment longer than necessary before letting go. Twilight watches you closely but doesn’t push further. Instead, she gives a small nod of approval.

"See? Progress."

Twilight steps back slightly, her expression softening as she notices how tense you still are. Her eyes flick to the rifle resting against the couch, then back to you. "Okay," she says gently. "It’s close. You’re fine. Now, let’s get you back to something resembling normal."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Define ‘normal.’ Because I don’t think I’ve been anywhere close to that since this whole mess started."

"Fair point," Twilight replies, smiling faintly. "But step one is getting you to eat something. When’s the last time you had a real meal?"

You shrug. "Yesterday. Maybe."

She raises an eyebrow. "Maybe?"

"I wasn’t keeping track, alright?" you snap, more harshly than you intended.

Twilight doesn’t flinch. Instead, she tilts her head, her tone turning light and conversational. "Well, good thing I brought supplies, then."

You frown as she levitates her saddlebags onto the kitchen table, pulling out a variety of items. Bread, fruits, a small bundle of vegetables—nothing spectacular, but better than what you’ve been eating lately.

"Where’d you even get this stuff?" you ask, your skepticism obvious.

"The market," she says simply, arranging the food neatly on the table. "Don’t worry—I didn’t tell anypony it was for you."

"Good," you mutter, sinking into a chair. "Last thing I need is more of them showing up here."

Twilight chuckles softly, pulling a pot from one of your cabinets without asking. "Don’t worry. Rainbow Dash and the others won’t be back for a while, unless you ask for help."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "I’m not asking."

"I figured as much," she says, starting to chop some of the vegetables with her magic. "But you’re stuck with me for now. So let’s make the best of it."

You watch her work, the quiet clinking of utensils oddly soothing despite your lingering irritation. She hums softly as she cooks, a simple tune that doesn’t seem to have any real melody but fills the silence nonetheless.

"You don’t have to do all this," you say finally, your voice gruff. "I can manage on my own."

"Sure you can," Twilight replies without looking up. "But that doesn’t mean you should have to."

You grimace, not knowing how to respond to that. Instead, you lean back in your chair, letting your gaze wander to the window. The forest looms just beyond the yard, its trees bathed in the soft light of morning. Even now, it feels... alive, like it’s watching you, waiting for you to drop your guard.

Twilight must notice your expression because she speaks up again, her voice softer this time. "You know, it’s okay to feel shaken after what happened. That manticore was no joke. Anypony—anyone—would be rattled."

"I’m not rattled," you say quickly, though the words feel hollow even to you.

Twilight doesn’t argue. She just gives you a knowing look before turning back to the food. "Sure. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here."

You grunt in response, not willing to give her the satisfaction of admitting she might have a point. Instead, you focus on the smell of whatever she’s cooking. It’s simple but comforting, and your stomach growls before you can stop it.

Twilight grins. "See? You needed this."

"Don’t get used to it," you mutter, but you’re already reaching for a plate as she sets it down in front of you.

You take the first bite, and your chewing slows as the taste hits you. The texture of the vegetables is fine—Twilight didn’t overcook them—but the seasoning, or lack thereof, is... something else. It’s bland, with an odd aftertaste that you can’t quite place, like someone tried to make a soup but forgot half the ingredients and added something they shouldn’t have.

You glance at Twilight, who’s beaming proudly, clearly waiting for you to say something. You swallow with effort and force yourself to keep a neutral expression.

"It’s... food," you manage, stabbing another piece of vegetable with your fork.

Twilight’s grin widens. "See? I told you I’d help! It’s simple, but it should give you the energy you need to get back on track."

You nod absently, taking another bite. The taste doesn’t improve, but you can’t bring yourself to complain—not right away. After everything she’s done this morning, snapping at her over bad food feels... wrong.

But the third bite pushes you over the edge. The aftertaste grows stronger, something like burnt hay mixed with a hint of bitterness that you’re sure isn’t supposed to be there. You set the fork down with a clink, glaring at the plate.

"Okay," you say, your voice sharp, "what is this? Did you just boil everything and hope for the best?"

Twilight blinks, taken aback. "What? No! I followed a recipe! Well, sort of... I mean, I might’ve improvised a little."

You raise an eyebrow. "Improvised? With what? Because whatever it is, it tastes like regret."

Twilight gasps, looking genuinely offended. "Excuse me! I worked hard on this! And you said you needed to eat, so I made you something healthy!"

"Healthy doesn’t mean it has to taste like dirt," you snap, pushing the plate away. "What did you even put in this?"

Her ears flatten, and she huffs. "It’s just vegetables, a bit of salt, and some Everfree herbs I found the last time I was here. They’re supposed to be really nutritious!"

You stare at her. "You fed me something from the forest? Are you serious?"

"It’s perfectly safe!" she protests, though her confidence wavers slightly under your glare. "Zecora uses them all the time in her brews!"

"Great," you say, crossing your arms. "So now I’m eating something meant for potions? That explains the weird aftertaste."

Twilight narrows her eyes, clearly offended but not backing down. "Well, if you’re going to be ungrateful, maybe I shouldn’t bother next time!"

"Fine by me," you retort. "I’ll stick to canned food and avoid whatever this is supposed to be."

She stomps a hoof, her cheeks puffing out slightly in indignation. "I was just trying to help! Do you have any idea how hard it is to cook without any spices or proper ingredients? Your pantry is a disaster!"

You glare at her, but then you notice the faintest flicker of amusement in her eyes. She’s still upset, but there’s something else there—a hint of satisfaction.

"What?" you snap, annoyed at her sudden shift.

"Nothing," she says, smirking slightly. "It’s just... I was worried you were going to stay all quiet and brooding forever. This is... familiar."

You groan, rubbing your temples. "Don’t read into it. I’m just tired and hungry, and this—" you gesture at the plate, "—didn’t help."

Twilight chuckles softly, her initial offense melting away. "Well, at least you’ve got enough energy to complain again. That’s progress."

"Yeah, sure," you mutter, slumping back in your chair. "Next time, just bring a sandwich or something."

"I’ll keep that in mind," she says with a smug grin, levitating the plate away. "But you’re finishing this later. Wasted food isn’t an option."

"Over my dead body," you reply, but the corner of your mouth twitches in what might be the faintest hint of a smirk.

Twilight doesn’t miss it, her own smile softening. "Don’t think I dont see that smile, you grump."

Twilight places the offending plate of food on the counter with a dramatic flourish, her magic flickering as she starts tidying up the remnants of her impromptu cooking session. You watch her bustle around the kitchen, still grumpy but too tired to argue further. The house feels... less heavy with her moving about, though you’d never admit it.

She turns back to you, her horn glowing as she levitates a glass of water toward you. "Drink this," she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. "Even if you won’t eat, you need to stay hydrated."

You roll your eyes but take the glass anyway, sipping it begrudgingly. "Happy now?"

"Getting there," Twilight replies with a smirk. She grabs a cloth from the counter and starts wiping down the already-clean table. "So, what’s the plan for today?"

You raise an eyebrow. "The plan? The plan is for you to head back to Ponyville and let me have some peace and quiet."

Twilight snorts, clearly unimpressed. "Nice try, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily. You still look like you haven’t slept in a week, and the forest isn’t going anywhere. If anything, it’s better to keep busy."

"Busy doing what?" you ask, leaning back in your chair. "We already fixed the fence, put up your magic rocks, and turned my pantry into your personal laboratory."

Twilight gives you a knowing look. "We reinforced the basics, but there’s always more to do. You’re living on the edge of the Everfree Forest. If you’re going to stay here, you need to be prepared for anything."

"I’m prepared enough," you grumble, though even as you say it, the memory of the manticore flashes through your mind. The weight of its roar, the claws swiping inches from your body—it’s not something you’re eager to repeat.

Twilight seems to pick up on your hesitation. She tilts her head, her expression softening. "You don’t have to do it all at once," she says gently. "But staying proactive might help... take your mind off things."

You glare at her, but there’s no real heat behind it. She’s annoyingly good at reading between the lines, and as much as you hate to admit it, she might have a point. "Fine," you mutter. "But I’m not building a watchtower or anything ridiculous."

Twilight’s eyes sparkle with excitement. "Great! How about we start with clearing some of the brush around the yard? It’ll make it harder for anything to sneak up on you."

You groan, dragging yourself to your feet. "You really don’t let up, do you?"

"Nope," she replies brightly, already heading for the door. "Come on, it’ll be good for you."

You grab the rifle on your way out, slinging it over your shoulder despite Twilight’s pointed look. "Just in case," you mutter defensively.

The two of you step into the yard, the morning sun casting long shadows across the grass. The forest looms in the distance, its edges creeping closer than you’d like. You set your jaw, determined not to let it get the better of you.

Twilight starts levitating branches and debris with her magic, neatly piling them to one side. "See? Easy. If we keep this up, you’ll have a clear line of sight all the way to the treeline."

"Fantastic," you mutter, grabbing an axe and heading for a particularly stubborn patch of undergrowth. The work is tedious, but it keeps your hands busy and your mind from wandering too much. Twilight hums as she works, her cheerful energy somehow making the task feel less daunting.

By midday, the yard looks noticeably better, and the pile of cleared brush has grown significantly. You lean on the axe, sweat dripping from your brow as you survey the progress. "Not bad," you admit grudgingly.

Twilight grins, brushing a stray leaf from her mane. "Told you it’d help. You’ve got to admit, this place already feels a little safer."

You glance at the forest, its shadows still deep and menacing despite the sunlight. "Safer doesn’t mean safe," you say quietly.

Twilight steps closer, her expression serious. "Nothing’s ever completely safe. But that doesn’t mean you stop trying."

You look at her, surprised by the weight of her words. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. Instead, you nod curtly and turn back toward the house. "Let’s take a break. You'll break down if you dont pace yourself."

Twilight laughs, following you with a bounce in her step. "Says the guy who’s never used magic to clear a yard. Maybe I should give you a few pointers."

"Pass," you reply, though a small part of you appreciates the banter. It’s easier than thinking about the forest, the manticore, and the unease still lingering in the back of your mind. For now, that’s enough.

As the day wears on, the sun begins its slow descent, casting long shadows across the freshly cleared yard. You sit on the porch, nursing a glass of water and watching the forest edge. The unease never fully leaves, a constant itch in the back of your mind, but at least the work kept it at bay for a while.

Twilight trots up beside you, looking far too cheerful for someone who spent the day working. Her mane’s a bit frazzled, and there’s dirt smudged on her coat, but she seems completely unfazed. "We made great progress today," she says, settling down next to you. "Doesn’t it feel good to see the results of our hard work?"

You shrug, taking a slow sip from your glass. "It’s... fine."

Twilight rolls her eyes. "You could at least admit it looks better out here."

"It does," you mutter reluctantly, though you refuse to meet her gaze.

She smiles, clearly satisfied. "See? Progress. Little by little, this place will feel like a fortress."

"Fortress," you echo, shaking your head. "What, are we expecting a siege?"

Twilight chuckles, but her tone turns thoughtful. "Not a siege, but it’s better to be prepared. The Everfree is unpredictable, and I don’t want you facing it alone."

You grunt in response, staring out at the treeline. The forest seems quieter now, but it’s an uneasy sort of quiet. Your fingers tighten around the glass, and Twilight’s words echo in your mind. Facing it alone.

"You staying again?" you ask abruptly, not looking at her.

Twilight blinks, clearly caught off guard. "Well, I was planning to... if that’s okay?"

You nod curtly, setting the glass down on the porch rail. "Whatever. Just don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet."

Her expression softens, and she leans slightly closer. "I wasn’t expecting you to. Thanks."

"Don’t make a big deal out of it," you snap, standing up and heading inside. "You know where everything is."

Twilight follows you in, her hooves clicking softly against the floor. "So, about sleeping arrangements..."

You stop in your tracks, already dreading where this is going. "Couch," you say quickly, pointing at the furniture in question.

She tilts her head, her expression perfectly innocent. "But the couch isn’t very comfortable. And last night, the bed worked just fine."

"For you," you grumble, rubbing your temples. "Look, I’m not in the mood for this argument again."

"Good," Twilight replies with a smile, trotting past you toward the bedroom. "Then it’s settled!"

You stare after her, incredulous. "That’s not what I—"

"Relax," she calls over her shoulder. "There’s plenty of room, and I promise not to hog the blankets."

You groan, following her into the room. She’s already climbing onto the bed, her tail flicking as she makes herself comfortable. The sight of her casually taking over your space irritates you, but the truth is, you’re too tired to fight about it.

"Fine," you mutter, grabbing the edge of the blanket. "But stay on your side. And no talking."

Twilight giggles softly, adjusting the pillow with her magic. "Deal. Goodnight."

You drop onto the bed with a heavy sigh, lying stiffly on your side and staring at the wall. The mattress dips slightly as Twilight shifts next to you, but she stays quiet, true to her word.

The house feels strangely still, but not as suffocating as it did the night before. The unease lingers, but with the sound of her breathing beside you, it doesn’t feel quite as overwhelming. You close your eyes, willing yourself to relax.

The night settles over the house, a thin veil of moonlight streaming through the window. The earlier tension has eased, replaced by an almost eerie stillness. You lie in bed, your body heavy with exhaustion but your mind restless. Twilight’s soft, rhythmic breathing beside you is the only sound in the room, a quiet reminder that you’re not alone. For once, it’s almost... tolerable.

Just as your eyelids start to droop, a sharp, grating noise cuts through the silence. A loud, high-pitched chime. It takes a moment to register—one of Twilight’s enchantments. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up so quickly the bed creaks beneath you.

Twilight stirs, her ears flicking. "What... what is that?" she mutters groggily.

"It’s your damn alarm," you hiss, grabbing the rifle you’d propped by the bed. Your heart pounds as you swing your legs over the side and stand, the cold floorboards creaking under your weight.

Twilight blinks the sleep from her eyes, her expression sharpening as the sound continues—an unnatural, almost metallic ringing that seems to resonate through the walls. "Something’s crossed the perimeter," she says, her voice steady but low.

You check the window, peering out into the dark yard. The faint glow of the enchantment stones casts long, flickering shadows, but you don’t see anything. Not yet.

"Stay here," you say, your voice tight.

Twilight shakes her head, hopping off the bed. "No way. If it’s something dangerous, you’ll need me."

Before you can argue, another sound cuts through the air—a voice. Faint and distant, but unmistakable.

"Help... please..."

You freeze, gripping the rifle tighter. The voice is thin, trembling, and almost broken. It’s coming from the forest, just beyond the yard.

Twilight’s ears perk up, her eyes wide. "That... that sounded like—"

The voice comes again, closer this time. "I’m lost... please..."

Twilight’s jaw tightens. "That’s Lily Blossom’s voice," she whispers. "She’s been missing for weeks."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at her, then back toward the window. The forest looms just beyond the faint light of the enchantment stones, its shadows thick and impenetrable.

"How would she even—" you start, but the words die in your throat. Something feels wrong. The voice is too faint, too thin, like it’s coming through layers of static. And the way it trembles... it doesn’t sound like fear. It sounds hollow.

"Twilight," you whisper, your tone urgent. "Stay here."

"But—" she begins, her voice wavering.

"Just stay here!" you snap, harsher than you meant to. She flinches, but she doesn’t argue.

You edge closer to the window, peering out into the dark. The voice calls again, closer this time, but still distant enough to make you question its source.

"Help... I’m scared... please..."

Your grip on the rifle tightens as you scan the yard, your eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The glow from the enchantment stones flickers, casting faint outlines that seem to shift when you’re not looking directly at them.

Twilight moves to your side, her horn glowing faintly. "What do you see?"

"Nothing," you mutter, though the word feels like a lie. The forest is too quiet. No rustling leaves, no distant calls of nocturnal creatures—just an oppressive silence broken only by the faint, broken voice.

"Maybe it’s really her," Twilight whispers, her breath hitching. "What if she found her way back?"

You shake your head. "It doesn’t make sense. Why would she be out there alone? And why now?"

The voice cuts through the air again, louder this time, almost frantic. "Please... I’m so scared..."

Twilight takes a step toward the door, her magic tugging at the handle. "I can’t just ignore her. What if she needs—"

You grab her shoulder, stopping her. "Listen to it," you say, your voice low. "Really listen."

She hesitates, her ears twitching as the voice comes again.

"Help... please... I’m scared..."

It’s wrong. The cadence is off, the words stretched and distorted like a poorly rehearsed play. There’s no desperation, no true fear—just an eerie mimicry of emotion.

Twilight's breath hitches as she processes what you just said. Her ears flick nervously, and her eyes dart toward the door, conflicted. "But it’s her voice," she whispers. "It sounds just like her..."

You shake your head, gripping the rifle tighter. "It sounds like what she would say, but it’s not her. There’s no... no weight behind it. No meaning."

The voice comes again, softer now, as if it knows you’re listening closely. "Don’t leave me... it’s cold..."

Twilight’s expression falters, her hooves shifting nervously against the wooden floor. "She always hated the cold," she mutters, her voice trembling. "She said that all the time... before she disappeared. I remember."

Your stomach tightens. You glance at her, then back toward the window. The enchantment stones flicker again, the light dimming for just a moment. The shadows beyond seem to stretch, growing longer, creeping closer.

Another voice echoes out, overlapping the first. "I’m scared... it’s cold..."

It’s Lily Blossom again, but the words stumble over each other, repeating and warping. The second voice carries an almost mocking tone, as if it’s trying to understand the emotions but can’t quite get it right.

Twilight gasps softly, stepping closer to the window. "Why does it sound... broken?"

"Because it doesn’t understand," you say, your voice tight. "It’s just... repeating. It’s like it’s trying to lure us out with scraps of what it’s heard before."

She looks at you, wide-eyed. "But how does it know her voice? How does it know what she said?"

You shake your head, swallowing hard. "I don’t know. But it’s not her. It can’t be."

The voice changes again, this time deeper, rougher. It speaks in a tone that doesn’t belong to Lily Blossom—or anyone else you recognize. The words stumble awkwardly.

"Don’t leave me... I can’t... breathe..."

Twilight stiffens. "I’ve heard that before," she whispers. "That’s... that’s Cloud Dancer. He had Asthma, he was a really good stallion. Before they found him."

Your blood runs cold. "He’s dead, isn’t he?"

Twilight nods slowly, her eyes locked on the window. "He didn’t make it back."

A new sound joins the eerie voices, a soft, wet dragging noise that seems to come from all directions at once. It’s faint at first, but it grows louder, closer, like something heavy being pulled across the ground. The sound scratches at the edges of your nerves, sending a chill down your spine.

The voice outside shifts again, garbled and distorted, "He didn’t make it... make it... back..."

Something about the way the words catch and drag feels disturbingly alive, like a cold breath against your neck. Twilight takes a step closer to you, her eyes darting nervously toward the door.

Then comes a rasping sound, almost a sigh, right outside the window. In a stumbling murmur that barely forms coherent syllables, the voice a gruesome parody:
"How… does it… know… her voice?"

Twilight’s eyes widen, and she covers her mouth with a hoof. Her shaky exhale suggests she’s only just realizing what you’ve suspected for a while now: it can hear you .

You press a finger to your lips, silently urging Twilight not to speak. Her ears flatten, and she nods, struggling to stay calm. Every instinct tells you that talking—letting it gather more words—would only make things worse.

For a long moment, the only sound is your own breath, and the dreadful thump of your heart in your ears. The enchantment stones glow fitfully, as though they’re unsure how to respond to the presence looming outside. The wet dragging noise resumes, circling the house in a slow, methodical way, and each scrape sets your nerves on edge.

A sudden knock rattles the window, just once, but loud enough to make Twilight jump. You whip the rifle around, training it on the darkness beyond the glass, though you can’t see anything clearly. It’s as if the moonlight refuses to illuminate whatever is out there.

Tap. Tap.

Two more knocks, delicate and oddly human in their rhythm. The enchantment alarm still wails in the background—a shrill, metallic shriek that’s begun to grate on your senses—but even that can’t mask the thin, reedy chuckle that follows the tapping.

Then, in a warped copy of your own voice—quiet, mocking—comes a single word:
“Twilight?”

She jerks back, her horn sputtering with anxious sparks. Hearing her name spat back in your voice makes something tighten in your chest. You reach out and place a hand on her shoulder, trying to steady her without letting her see how shaken you are too.

A slow shuffle across the porch. A heavy rasp of breath against the window pane. It’s listening… waiting for you to speak again.

Twilight inches closer to the bed where she left her saddlebags. With trembling magic, she pries them open, fumbling for anything that might help dispel the creature or strengthen her enchantment. Her eyes flick to you as she levitates a small crystal orb.

You shake your head urgently, pressing a finger to your lips again. You mouth the words, It can hear us. She nods in understanding, swallowing hard before gently setting the orb down on the floor, then lighting her horn with the faintest glow—careful not to speak even a whisper of an incantation.

Outside, the dragging noise stops again, replaced by a dry, scraping whisper. It’s like the thing is shifting its weight back and forth, deliberating. You both stand still, muscles taut, trying not to make a sound.

Then, ever so softly, a new voice emerges—one you haven’t heard before. It’s almost childlike, sweet in a nauseating way:
"Where… are… you?"

It’s repeating words from someone else. Some other victim. Someone who called out in the forest, maybe a long time ago. The question slurs, the pitch warping unpredictably, as if it’s not sure how a child’s voice should work.

Twilight presses her back to the wall beside the window, and you’re right there with her, the rifle poised. Your mind races: Can it open doors? Can it break the glass? You’re in no rush to find out.

A soft shuffle, a light thump, then silence. You exchange a tense glance with Twilight. The alarm is still ringing, but it seems even that has grown quieter under the weight of the hush outside. The stillness makes your skin crawl—like the creature has melted into the night.

You wait. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. No more voices. No dragging.

Twilight’s eyes flick to the door, and you realize you’re both holding your breath. Just when you’re about to lean forward and peek out, the voice slips back in, slick and cold, almost inside your ear:

"Where… are… you… Twilight?"

Twilight pales, looking to you for guidance. Her lips part, as though she might ask something, but you quickly shake your head. Don’t speak, you mouth again. Your heart is pounding so violently that you’re sure the creature can hear it.

Your throat tightens. Twilight shuts her eyes, steeling herself. You raise the rifle slightly, though you have no idea if it will do any good.

oppressive silence is shattered by a sound that makes your blood run cold—a loud, splintering crack, followed by the crash of shattering glass. It echoes through the house, sharp and violent, and the enchantment chime wails louder in response, as if in protest.

Twilight gasps, her horn flaring as her head snaps toward the source of the noise. "The study," she whispers, her voice trembling.

You grip the rifle tightly, every muscle in your body taut. "Stay here," you say, barely more than a hiss, though you know deep down she won’t listen.

"I’m not letting you go alone," she whispers back, staying close. Her expression is resolute, despite the fear in her wide, violet eyes.

The two of you move cautiously toward the hallway. Each step feels agonizingly slow, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath your weight. The sound of glass crunching underfoot stops you in your tracks. It’s coming from the study, the faint, deliberate steps of something moving inside.

And then... the voice begins again.

"Please... no..." It’s a high-pitched whimper, fragile and trembling.

Twilight’s ears fold back, and she stifles a shaky gasp.

A deep, guttural sound follows, almost like a growl, and then words spill out, fast and frantic: "Stop! Get away! I’ll do anything—"

It cuts off abruptly, replaced by a sickening gurgling noise, low and wet. You tighten your grip on the rifle until your knuckles ache, your mind racing. The thing isn’t just repeating words anymore—it’s replaying moments.

"Twilight," you whisper, your voice hoarse, "what the hell is this thing?"

"I don’t know," she whispers back, her voice quivering. "But we have to do something."

The creature moves again, its steps slow and deliberate. Another voice emerges, one that cracks and falters like it’s being forced through a throat not meant to speak. "It hurts… please… I can’t—"

The words dissolve into a wet, choking noise, followed by a low, rasping chuckle that makes your stomach turn. Twilight shudders, her hooves faltering as she glances toward the study door.

The next voice is deeper, more defiant, but equally fractured: "You won’t take me! I’ll—"

It cuts off with a loud, snapping sound, followed by silence. The creature stands still for a moment, its breathing ragged, almost animalistic.

Twilight’s horn glows brighter, casting flickering shadows down the hallway. She leans closer to you, her voice barely audible. "It’s... Reliving what it’s done before."

"Their fear," you mutter, your jaw tightening. "Their last moments."

The creature shifts again, closer now. You can hear it moving through the shattered glass, the soft, wet dragging sound resuming. It’s slow, almost leisurely, as if it knows you’re cornered.

The voice shifts again, this time in a hollow mimicry of a mare's voice: "Please, take me instead... let her go... I’ll do anything—"

Twilight stiffens beside you, her magic faltering as the words strike a nerve. "That’s..." she whispers, her voice cracking. "That’s horrible..."

You glance at her, but before you can say anything, the voice changes again, now quieter, more broken: "M-mommy? Is that you? It’s cold… so cold… so dark..."

The creature moves toward the door of the study, its breathing loud and ragged. It pauses, and for a moment, the house falls eerily silent again.

You level the rifle at the study door, your finger hovering over the trigger. Twilight’s horn flares, her magic coalescing into a glowing barrier in front of the door.

The oppressive silence is shattered by a single, deliberate knock against the study door.

Tap.
It’s slow, heavy, and deliberate, like whatever’s behind the door is savoring the tension in the air.

"Get ready," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you steady the rifle against your shoulder.

Twilight nods, her magic flickering as the glowing barrier solidifies, casting a pale light over the dark hallway. The two of you hold your ground, listening intently.

Tap.
Another knock, slower this time. And then, the voice starts again—your voice, broken and disjointed:
"Get ready… get ready…"

Twilight flinches, her eyes darting toward you. "It’s mocking us," she whispers.

"No kidding," you mutter, your knuckles whitening as you tighten your grip on the rifle.

The door creaks open slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of darkness beyond the frame. The glow of Twilight’s barrier reflects faintly off something wet and glistening just beyond the threshold. The creature shifts, its movements jerky and unnatural, and a deep, guttural clicking sound escapes its throat.

You take a step forward, your heart pounding. "Show yourself," you bark, your voice more confident than you feel.

The creature responds with a low, rasping chuckle, then speaks again, cycling through voices in quick succession.

"Please... help... don’t leave me..."
"Get away... I’ll do anything..."
"M-mommy?"

Each voice is fractured, broken, as though the thing is struggling to piece them together.

Twilight grits her teeth, her horn flaring brighter as the barrier pulses with energy. "It’s waiting for us to make a mistake," she says through clenched teeth.

"Not gonna happen," you reply, leveling the rifle at the crack in the door.

And then it moves.

With a sudden, violent burst of speed, the door slams open, and the creature lunges toward the barrier. Its form is monstrous—elongated limbs that end in sharp, bony points, and a twisted, amorphous mass where its face should be. Its body shudders and clicks as it moves, like bones snapping and resetting themselves in real-time.

Twilight gasps, her magic surging to hold the barrier as the creature slams against it with a deafening thud. The force sends a ripple through the glowing shield, and you feel the shockwave in your chest.

The creature recoils, its howl—a chaotic blend of a hundred voices—splits the air and sends a sharp pain through your skull before it lunges at the barrier again.

"It’s not gonna hold!" Twilight cries, sweat dripping down her forehead as her magic wavers.

You don’t think—you just act. The rifle snaps up to your shoulder, and you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the house like thunder, and the creature recoils, a jagged hole appearing in its shoulder. Black, tar-like fluid sprays across the barrier, sizzling as it makes contact with Twilight’s magic.

The creature lets out a shriek, its body twisting and contorting in ways that make your stomach churn. It presses its malformed face against the barrier, its hollow, glinting sockets locking onto you.

"Do you think… we don't see you?" it rasps, the words stitched together from voices it’s stolen.

"Shut up," you growl, firing again.

This time, the shot hits its torso, and the creature staggers back, its limbs flailing as more of that foul, black fluid oozes from the wound. Twilight takes the opportunity to reinforce the barrier, her horn glowing like a beacon as the shield pulses brighter.

The creature falters, its form flickering like a bad signal, but it doesn’t retreat. Instead, it rears up, its twisted limbs clawing at the edges of the barrier, and lets out another horrifying roar.

"Again!" Twilight shouts. "Hit it again!"

You don’t hesitate. You aim for its center mass and pull the trigger.

The bullet tears through its chest, and the creature lets out a final, gurgling screech. Its body convulses violently before collapsing in a heap on the floor, its limbs twitching spasmodically. The tar-like substance pools around it, hissing and bubbling as the enchantments react to its presence.

For a moment, neither of you move. The creature’s body lies still, the black ooze seeping into the cracks of the wooden floor. Twilight’s barrier fades, and the house falls eerily silent, save for the faint crackling of the remaining enchantments.

Twilight exhales shakily, her legs trembling as she steps closer to the thing. "Is it... dead?"

You keep the rifle trained on the motionless heap, your finger hovering over the trigger. "Only one way to make sure."

Without hesitation, you fire one last shot directly into its head. The creature’s body spasms briefly before collapsing entirely, the tar-like fluid leaking out in sluggish streams.

Twilight recoils, covering her nose with a hoof as the stench of burnt metal and rot fills the room. "What… what was that thing?"

"I don’t know," you say, your voice hoarse. "But whatever it was, it’s not coming back."

She looks at you, her eyes wide and glistening. "You… you saved us."

You let out a shaky breath, lowering the rifle. "I wasn’t gonna let it take us too."

The two of you stand in the silence, the weight of what just happened settling over you like a heavy blanket. The creature is gone, but its presence lingers, a haunting reminder of what the forest hides.

And deep down, you know this won’t be the last time you face something like it—or worse.

Your Absence Invited Us Home.

The oppressive silence returns, broken only by your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the house settling around you. The creature’s body lies sprawled in the middle of the room, its black, tar-like blood pooling beneath it, hissing faintly as it reacts with the wooden floor. You can still feel the vibration of the rifle’s last shot in your shoulder, a physical reminder that the nightmare you just faced was real.

Twilight stands frozen beside you, her horn dimming as her magic fades entirely. The enchantment alarm continues to wail, its shrill tone grating against your nerves. You let out a harsh breath, your voice hoarse.

"Turn that damn thing off," you mutter, gesturing toward the doorway. "Please."

Twilight blinks, as if snapping out of a trance, and nods quickly. She trots out of the room, her hooves echoing against the floor, and the alarm cuts off moments later. The resulting silence is deafening, amplifying the heavy weight in the air. You keep the rifle trained on the corpse, unwilling to let your guard down even now.

Twilight reenters, her eyes fixed on the twisted body. Her face is pale, her ears pinned back, and she looks like she’s trying to process everything at once. "The enchantments... they were only supposed to warn us," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I didn’t think—"

"Neither did I," you interrupt, your voice sharp. "But here we are."

She flinches, her gaze flicking to you. "I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought the alarms would be enough to give us time to prepare, to keep anything from getting too close."

You shake your head, lowering the rifle slightly but keeping it ready. "Twilight, this thing smashed through my reinforced window like it was nothing. If it wasn’t for this—" you gesture to the rifle, "—we’d both be dead right now."

Twilight doesn’t respond. Instead, she steps cautiously toward the creature’s body, her horn glowing faintly to cast more light over it. She grimaces as she gets closer, her nose wrinkling at the foul stench rising from the corpse. "What... what is this thing?" she whispers.

You approach her cautiously, keeping the rifle aimed at the creature’s head. Even in death, its form is grotesque—its limbs unnaturally long and jagged, its tar-like blood still oozing from the gaping wounds. The face, or what should have been a face, is nothing more than a formless mass of shifting, charred flesh. No eyes, no mouth—just a void.

"I don’t know," you admit, your voice low. "But it mimics. Voices, moments... fears. It was trying to get into our heads."

Twilight’s hoof trembles as she edges closer, her magic lifting a small shard of glass from the broken study window. The jagged edge drips with the same black ooze, and she examines it with a mix of horror and fascination. "I’ve never read about anything like this before," she murmurs. "It’s like it’s... part of the forest. A manifestation of its darkest... uggh." She shudders, dropping the shard.

You glance at her. "Twilight, whatever it was, it knew how to hunt. It knew how to scare us. It used Lily Blossom’s voice. Cloud Dancer’s. How many others do you think it’s done this to?"

Her breath hitches, and her eyes widen. "The missing ponies..." she whispers. "You think—"

"I don’t know," you say quickly, cutting her off. "But if it’s been in the forest all this time, preying on anything that wanders too far in..." You let the thought hang, unfinished. The idea that there could be more of these things out there is too much to process right now.

Twilight takes a shaky step back, her legs nearly buckling. "What do we do now? Do we... do we bury it? Burn it?"

You shake your head. "Burning seems safer. I don’t trust this thing to stay dead."

Twilight nods, her horn glowing brighter. Together, you gather what you can—wood, old papers, anything flammable—and pile it around the creature’s body. The stench is overwhelming, and Twilight gags more than once as the black ooze sizzles and bubbles.

"Are you ready?" she asks, her voice trembling.

You nod, stepping back and raising the rifle again, just in case. "Do it."

Her horn flares, and a burst of magical fire engulfs the pile. The flames roar to life, consuming the creature and filling the room with an acrid, choking smoke. You both retreat, covering your mouths as the fire burns hotter and brighter.

For a moment, the creature’s body writhes within the flames, as if trying to claw its way out. Twilight yelps, stumbling back, but the fire holds it in place. The writhing stops, and the thing collapses into a pile of ash and charred remains.

You both stand in silence, watching the flames die down until only embers remain. The air is thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burned flesh, but the oppressive weight that had lingered over the house feels... lighter now. Less suffocating.

Twilight looks at you, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and grim determination. "We need better defenses," she says, her voice firm despite the tremor in it.

You nod slowly, your grip on the rifle loosening but not entirely relaxed. "Yeah," you agree. "And we need to figure out exactly what the hell we’re dealing with out here. Because I don’t think this was the only one."

The house falls silent once more, the echoes of the night’s horrors still hanging in the air. Neither of you speaks as you begin cleaning up the mess, but the unspoken understanding between you is clear: the Everfree is far more dangerous than either of you had imagined.

The house feels unnervingly quiet as you and Twilight stand in the smoldering aftermath. The acrid stench of burnt flesh and smoke still lingers, but it’s different now. The oppressive weight—the sense of being watched, of something waiting just beyond the edges of your perception—is gone.

You glance around the room, your eyes lingering on the shattered window, the blood-stained floorboards, and the pile of ash that was once the creature. Your shoulders sag slightly, the tension that’s gripped you for days easing for the first time.

Twilight notices your shift in posture, her ears flicking toward you. "What is it?" she asks, her voice still soft, like she’s afraid of disturbing the silence.

You shake your head, lowering the rifle completely and resting it against the wall. "I don’t know," you admit, your voice rough from the smoke. "It’s... different now. The air feels lighter."

Twilight looks around as well, her horn glowing faintly as she scans the room with cautious curiosity. "You’re right," she says after a moment, her tone thoughtful. "It doesn’t feel... heavy anymore. That pressure—it’s gone."

You nod, your gaze drifting to the shattered glass scattered across the floor. "It was there before. The past two nights, ever since I saw that thing in the forest... I felt it. Like I was being watched, even inside the house." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "What if that thing wasn’t just hunting randomly? What if it was... watching me?"

Twilight’s eyes widen slightly, and she takes a step closer to you. "Watching you?" she echoes. "You mean... it might have been waiting? Observing?"

You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. "I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but that feeling—it’s been there since I killed the manticore. Like something in the forest noticed me, and it didn’t like what it saw."

Twilight frowns, her brow furrowing as she processes your words. "If it was watching, that means it might have been trying to figure you out. Mimicking voices, replaying moments... it could have been testing you. Trying to get under your skin."

You grimace, the thought sending a chill down your spine. "Well, it succeeded," you mutter. "But now it’s gone, and the house doesn’t feel like it’s suffocating me anymore. So maybe... maybe it was tied to that thing."

Twilight nods slowly, her expression grave. "If that’s true, it means we need to be even more careful. If there are more creatures like this in the forest, they could be watching too, waiting for the right moment."

"Great," you mutter, leaning against the wall. "Just what I needed—more paranoia."

Twilight gives you a small, tentative smile. "At least we know how to fight them now. Your weapon worked, and so did the fire. We have a way to defend ourselves."

You glance at the rifle resting against the wall, its barrel still warm from the fight. "Yeah," you say, your tone grim. "But this thing took three shots to put down, and I don’t have unlimited ammo. If something worse shows up, I’m not sure this’ll be enough."

Twilight’s ears flatten, but she straightens her posture, a flicker of determination in her eyes. "Then we’ll find other ways to protect ourselves. Stronger enchantments, better alarms, maybe even wards to keep them out entirely."

You raise an eyebrow. "You think that’s enough to stop something like this?"

"I don’t know," she admits, "but it’s better than doing nothing. We can’t let fear stop us from trying."

Her words hang in the air, and you nod reluctantly. The fear is still there, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. The heavy, oppressive presence that had plagued you is gone, and with it, some of the weight on your chest.

Twilight steps closer, her eyes searching yours. "You’re still shaken," she says gently, "but you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together."

You snort softly, the faintest hint of a wry smile tugging at your lips. "You keep saying ‘we’ like this is a team effort. Pretty sure I did most of the heavy lifting tonight."

She grins despite the tension still lingering in the room. "Maybe, but I kept that barrier up. And I’ll be here to help next time too—whether you like it or not."

You sigh, pushing off the wall and heading toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water. "I’d like it a lot more if there wasn’t a ‘next time.’"

Twilight follows, her steps lighter now, though her gaze lingers on the ash pile in the study. "I’d like that too," she says softly. "But if there is, at least we’ll be ready."

As you sip the water and let her words sink in, you glance out the kitchen window toward the forest. For the first time in days, it doesn’t feel like it’s watching you. But the memory of the creature’s twisted form and its mimicry of voices still lingers in your mind.

You set the glass down, your jaw tightening. If the forest thinks it can break you, it’s got another thing coming.

The tension in the air has eased, but neither of you feels truly at peace. The faint glow of the extinguished fire in the study casts flickering shadows across the walls as you and Twilight linger in the kitchen, unwilling to break the fragile calm. The forest beyond the window is a dark, silent void, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like it’s watching. Still, the night isn’t over.

Twilight lets out a shaky breath, her hooves shifting uneasily. "We should try to rest," she says softly, her voice carrying a forced calm. "If we’re going to figure this out tomorrow, we’ll need our strength."

You glance at her, your brow furrowed. "You think you can sleep after all that?"

Her ears twitch, and she gives a nervous laugh. "Probably not. But staying awake won’t help either."

You nod reluctantly, rubbing the back of your neck. Your body feels heavy with exhaustion, but your mind is still racing, replaying every moment of the encounter. The way the creature moved, its mimicry, the voices—it’s burned into your memory.

Twilight steps closer, her gaze steady despite the lingering fear in her eyes. "Come on," she urges gently. "It’s over—for now. We need to rest while we can."

You sigh, grabbing the rifle from where it rests against the wall. "Fine. But this stays close," you say, gesturing with it.

"Agreed," she replies, not even attempting to argue.

The two of you make your way back to the bedroom. The hallway feels longer than before, every creak of the floorboards amplified in the quiet. When you finally reach the room, you hesitate for a moment, glancing at the bed.

Twilight seems to sense your unease. She climbs onto the mattress without hesitation, curling up on her side near the edge. Her horn glows faintly as she adjusts the blankets. "You’ll feel safer if you’re armed," she says, her tone light but sincere. "I’ll feel safer knowing you’re there."

You grunt in response and sit heavily on the edge of the bed. The weight of the rifle in your hands feels steadying, a stark reminder that, for now, you’ve survived. You set it carefully within arm’s reach on the floor, close enough to grab at a moment’s notice.

Twilight watches you for a moment before settling her head on the pillow. Her eyes close, her breathing slow but uneven, betraying the lingering nerves she’s trying to mask. "Goodnight," she says softly, almost to herself.

"Yeah," you reply, not quite able to return the sentiment.

You lie back stiffly, staring up at the ceiling. The mattress feels too soft under you, almost unfamiliar after the tension of the past few nights. But as you focus on the quiet—on the absence of the heavy, watching presence that had gripped you for days—you find your body beginning to relax, inch by inch.

Twilight’s breathing evens out beside you, a steady rhythm that fills the silence. The soft rustle of her shifting under the blanket is oddly grounding, a reminder that you’re not alone in this strange, dangerous place.

Your eyes drift to the window, the faint glow of moonlight tracing patterns across the walls. The forest looms beyond, dark and still, but no longer suffocating. For the first time since this nightmare began, the house feels like it belongs to you again.

Your muscles loosen, your eyelids growing heavier as the adrenaline finally begins to ebb. The rifle is still close, a silent sentinel at your side, but the weight of the night presses down on you in a different way now—less fear, more exhaustion.

You close your eyes, your breathing falling into sync with Twilight’s. The faint warmth of the blanket, the quiet hum of her magic lingering in the air, and the knowledge that the creature is gone... it’s enough to let sleep claim you, at least for tonight.

The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, casting a pale golden glow across the room. You wake slowly, your body stiff and sore from the tension of the night before. For a moment, you lie still, your mind caught between the lingering remnants of sleep and the sharp memories of the creature.

Then you remember. The shattered window. The mimicry. The ash in the study.

You sit up abruptly, glancing toward the rifle where you left it. It’s still there, right within reach, and the sight of it eases the knot in your chest just a little. Twilight is curled up on the far side of the bed, her soft breathing undisturbed by your movements. Her mane is slightly frazzled, and her tail twitches faintly as if she’s dreaming.

The house is quiet now, almost eerily so. No alarm chimes, no dragging noises, no disjointed voices echoing through the halls. Just the distant sound of birdsong outside and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. The world feels... normal, for the first time in days.

You push yourself out of bed, careful not to wake Twilight, and grab the rifle. Slinging it over your shoulder, you glance at the door, debating whether to check the study again. The idea makes your stomach churn, but ignoring it won’t make it go away.

The hallway feels less oppressive in the morning light, though the broken glass crunching under your boots is a harsh reminder of what happened. When you reach the study, you hesitate at the doorway, peering inside.

The ash is still there, a dark smear on the floorboards surrounded by the charred remains of the fire you and Twilight built. The air is thick with the faint, acrid scent of burned flesh, but the room is otherwise undisturbed. The creature is truly gone.

You exhale slowly, tension bleeding from your shoulders. Turning away, you make your way to the kitchen, your stomach grumbling faintly despite the lingering unease. You can’t remember the last proper meal you had—it feels like days ago, though it’s probably only been one.

As you rifle through the pantry, searching for something edible, you hear the soft clatter of hooves behind you. Twilight appears in the doorway, her mane slightly tousled and her eyes heavy with sleep.

"Morning," she says quietly, her voice hoarse but steady.

"Morning," you reply, not looking up from the shelf. "You sleep okay?"

She nods, though her expression is wary. "Better than I expected. You?"

You shrug, pulling out a can of something that might pass for breakfast. "Managed to get a few hours. Better than nothing."

Twilight steps closer, her gaze flicking to the rifle on your shoulder. "You’re keeping that close, huh?"

"Can you blame me?" you say, giving her a pointed look. "After what we dealt with last night, I’m not taking any chances."

Her ears flatten slightly, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she levitates a glass of water from the counter and sips it slowly, her eyes distant.

The silence between you stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Twilight sets the glass down and looks at you. "Do you think... it’s really over?"

You shake your head, popping the lid off the can with a practiced motion. "I don’t know. Maybe for now. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since ending up here, it’s that this forest doesn’t run out of surprises."

Twilight frowns, her expression thoughtful. "We’ll have to reinforce the house. Better alarms, stronger enchantments—something to keep whatever else is out there from getting too close."

"Yeah," you mutter, pouring the contents of the can into a bowl. "That’s your department. Just let me know what you need."

Twilight nods, her determination returning. "We’ll figure it out. Together."

You grunt in acknowledgment, grabbing a spoon and taking a seat at the table. As you eat, Twilight moves to the window, peering out at the forest. The sunlight filters through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground, and for a moment, the Everfree looks almost peaceful.

But the memory of the creature’s mimicry, its twisted form, and the voices it stole is still fresh in your mind. You know better than to trust the forest’s calm facade.

Twilight turns back to you, her eyes serious. "We need to be ready. Whatever’s out there... it’s not going to stop."

You nod, setting the spoon down with a clink. "Then we better make sure we don’t, either."

Twilight sets her empty glass on the counter with a resolute clink. "I’ll need to go back to Ponyville to get the materials for the wards," she says, her voice steady but a little hesitant, like she’s bracing for an argument. "The ones I have here aren’t strong enough. We’ll need specific crystals, chalks, and some... other things."

You pause mid-bite, your jaw tightening. The thought of being left alone in the house—this house—sends a ripple of unease through your chest. The heavy, watching feeling is gone, but the memory of it lingers, sharp and insistent. What if it comes back? What if something worse replaces it?

"How long’s that going to take?" you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral as you push the bowl away.

Twilight shrugs, her ears twitching. "Most of the day, probably. It depends on how quickly I can gather everything. Some of it’s in the market, but other supplies might be in... more specialized places."

Your grip on the spoon tightens. Most of the day. Hours. Alone in a house that still feels like it’s holding its breath. The idea makes your skin crawl, but you force yourself to keep your expression blank.

"Fine," you mutter, standing and grabbing the rifle from where it leans against the chair. "Do what you have to."

Twilight tilts her head, her gaze narrowing slightly. "Are you... okay staying here by yourself? I mean, after everything—"

"I’m fine," you snap, cutting her off. The words come out harsher than you intended, and you immediately regret it when her ears flatten. "Look, just—just go do what you need to do. I’ll be here."

But as the words leave your mouth, your stomach churns. The thought of sitting in that empty house, the silence stretching on, the memories clawing at the edges of your mind... it’s unbearable. You glance out the window at the forest, the sunlight barely piercing the thick canopy, and swallow hard.

Twilight doesn’t move. Her expression softens, and a small, knowing smile tugs at her lips. "You could come with me, you know," she says casually, as if she’s suggesting a walk in the park. "It’d be faster with an extra pair of hands."

Your jaw tightens. She’s offering you an out, and you hate how much you want to take it. "I’ve got things to do here," you grumble, but the excuse feels hollow even to your own ears.

"Like what?" she presses, her tone light but teasing. "Reorganize the pantry? Stare at the forest and hope nothing’s watching?"

You glare at her, but she meets your gaze steadily, her eyes soft with understanding. She knows. Of course she knows. You’re not ready to be alone, not yet.

With a sigh, you sling the rifle over your shoulder and grab your coat. "Fine," you mutter, heading toward the door. "But if this turns into some kind of shopping spree, I’m out."

Twilight beams, her tail flicking happily as she trots after you. "Don’t worry, it won’t. I’ll stick to the list."

You step outside, the sunlight catching on the remnants of the charred ash still clinging to the porch. The house feels lighter, less oppressive, but the memory of that heavy presence clings to your mind like a shadow. You glance back at the door before following Twilight down the path, an uneasy feeling settling in your gut.

The forest looms in the distance as you and Twilight make your way toward Ponyville, her cheerful chatter filling the quiet. You’re only half-listening, your eyes darting to the treeline every so often. The creature is gone, but the fear hasn’t left you. You can’t help but wonder: was it really tied to the house, or could something else be waiting for your return?

Twilight glances at you, her smile faltering slightly. "You doing okay?" she asks, her tone gentle.

"Yeah," you reply gruffly, tightening your grip on the rifle. "Just... keeping an eye out."

She doesn’t push, but her concern lingers in the way she stays close, her horn glowing faintly as if ready to cast a spell at a moment’s notice. Together, you walk toward the safety of Ponyville, leaving the haunted house and its memories behind—for now.

Ponyville comes into view slowly, the colorful rooftops and quaint structures looking almost surreal against the dark green of the Everfree in the distance. The closer you get to the town, the more the oppressive weight you’ve carried since entering this world seems to lift. The air feels different here—lighter, almost too bright compared to the shadows of the forest.

You can’t help but glance at the rifle slung over your shoulder as you cross the invisible boundary into the town proper. It feels oddly out of place, like a dark smear on a cheerful canvas. The pastel ponies going about their day stop and stare as you and Twilight approach, their wide eyes filled with curiosity, suspicion, and—annoyingly—fear.

"You’re safe here," Twilight says quietly, catching the slight tension in your shoulders. "Ponyville’s not the Everfree. Nothing dangerous gets this close to town."

"Good to know," you mutter, though your grip on the rifle doesn’t loosen.

The difference is undeniable. The forest’s gnawing unease has been replaced by a more straightforward discomfort—the kind that comes from being a human in a town that clearly isn’t used to your kind. Ponies pause mid-conversation to gawk, some whispering behind their hooves. A foal peeks out from behind their parent’s legs, their tiny face equal parts fascinated and frightened.

Twilight doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe she just doesn’t care. She walks beside you with her usual confident stride, her saddlebag bouncing lightly with each step. Occasionally, she glances at you, as if to check that you’re still following.

"This place is... colorful," you comment, glancing at a bakery shaped like a gingerbread house. The sheer whimsy of it makes your stomach turn.

Twilight chuckles softly. "You should see the interior. Pinkie Pie—she works there—has probably redecorated it twice since I last visited."

"Sounds exhausting," you reply flatly, earning a smirk from her.

As you continue through the town, the stares become less frequent, though they never entirely stop. You catch snippets of conversation as ponies hurry by, most of them about you.

"That’s the human, isn’t it?"
"I heard he came from the Everfree!"
"Why does he have that... thing on his back?"

Twilight shoots you a sheepish smile. "They’ll get used to you eventually. They’re just curious."

"Curious, huh?" you say dryly, glaring at a stallion who quickly looks away. "Doesn’t feel like curiosity."

Twilight doesn’t reply, her focus shifting to the marketplace ahead. "Let’s just get what we need and head back. The sooner we have the wards up, the better."

The marketplace is bustling, the air filled with the chatter of ponies bartering and the occasional clink of bits. The colorful stalls are lined with everything from fresh produce to strange magical trinkets. Twilight moves through the crowd with practiced ease, stopping occasionally to chat with a vendor.

You, on the other hand, stand off to the side, your presence drawing a wide berth from the ponies around you. It’s not outright hostility—it’s more like cautious avoidance, as if they’re not sure whether you’re dangerous or just strange.

Twilight glances back at you as she haggles with a shopkeeper over a set of enchanted chalks. "You okay?" she asks, her tone light but genuinely concerned.

"Fine," you reply, though your eyes keep darting to the edges of the marketplace. Even here, surrounded by colorful buildings and cheerful chatter, you can’t shake the lingering sense of unease. The forest is far away, but its memory clings to you like a second shadow.

Twilight seems to pick up on your tension, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she continues gathering the supplies with quiet efficiency, occasionally explaining what each item is for. Crystals to focus the wards, chalk to inscribe the runes, incense to enhance the barrier’s strength—it’s all foreign to you, but you nod along anyway.

By the time her saddlebags are full, the sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting warm light over the town. Twilight turns to you, her expression pleased. "That’s everything. We can head back now."

"Good," you mutter, shifting the rifle on your shoulder. "This place is... a lot."

Twilight chuckles. "I told you Ponyville’s safe. It just takes some getting used to."

As the two of you make your way back toward the Everfree, the stares start up again, though they feel less intense now. Maybe the ponies are realizing you’re not about to go on a rampage, or maybe they’ve just lost interest. Either way, you’re glad to leave the town behind.

The moment you cross back into the outskirts of the Everfree, the unease creeps back in—not as heavy as before, but present enough to keep you on edge. You glance at the house as it comes into view, its silhouette stark against the forest beyond.

Twilight notices your hesitation. "It’s okay," she says gently. "The wards will make it safer. You’ll feel better once they’re up."

You grunt in response, unwilling to admit that the house feels different now. The heavy, oppressive feeling is gone, but you can’t shake the thought that it might return. The forest is too unpredictable, too dangerous to trust.

As you step onto the porch, Twilight gives you a small, encouraging smile. "Let’s get to work. The sooner we set up the wards, the sooner you can relax."

"Relax," you echo, glancing at the treeline. "Sure. That’ll be easy."

But you follow her inside, rifle still in hand, ready for whatever comes next.

The moment you step inside, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle, barely noticeable at first—just a faint wrongness that prickles at the edges of your awareness. The air feels heavier, not like before, but enough to make your skin crawl. The light filtering through the windows seems muted, like the house is holding its breath.

You Stubborn Thing, Let the Water Take You.

The sunlight filtering through the windows seems muted, casting dim, washed-out shadows that feel unnatural.

Twilight pauses in the doorway, her ears flicking back and forth. She glances over her shoulder at you, her expression tight. "Let’s not waste time," she says, her voice quieter than usual. "The faster we set this up, the better."

You nod, gripping the rifle on your shoulder a little tighter. "Yeah. Let’s get it over with."

The door creaks shut behind you, the sound echoing unnervingly through the house. Twilight sets her saddlebags down in the center of the room, her magic glowing faintly as she begins pulling out the supplies. Crystals, chalk, and bundles of dried herbs are laid out in neat rows, her movements methodical.

"I’ll start inscribing the runes," she says, glancing at you. "You can place the crystals at the four corners of the house. Make sure they’re positioned exactly where the walls meet."

"Got it," you reply, grabbing the first crystal. It’s cold in your hand, almost unnaturally so, and faintly luminescent. As you head for the first corner, the prickling unease in the air grows stronger.

You crouch down and place the crystal, watching as its faint glow intensifies, spreading out like ripples in water. For a moment, you think you hear something—a faint, almost imperceptible whisper—but when you glance around, the room is silent.

Twilight works quickly, her horn glowing as she draws intricate patterns on the floor with the enchanted chalk. The runes pulse faintly, their lines sharp and precise. She hums softly, a nervous habit you’ve started to notice, as she concentrates on her task.

You move to the second corner, the rifle bouncing lightly against your back. The shadows here seem darker, their edges sharper. You crouch again, setting the crystal down carefully. It flares briefly before settling into a steady glow.

"How’s it going over there?" Twilight calls out, her voice slightly strained.

"Fine," you reply, though the tension in your voice is impossible to hide. "Second one’s down."

"Good," she says, not looking up from her work. "Keep going."

You glance at the window as you pass by, something in your gut telling you to check. The forest beyond is still, its dark canopy untouched by the breeze, but the reflection in the glass makes your stomach turn. It’s faint, but you notice it immediately: your reflection isn’t quite in sync. It moves a fraction of a second too late, a subtle lag that sends a chill down your spine.

Shaking it off, you move to the third corner, determined to finish as quickly as possible. You set the crystal down, watching as the glow spreads to connect with the others. The air seems to hum faintly, an almost electric charge building around you.

Twilight continues her work, the runes glowing brighter with each stroke of chalk. "One more corner," she says, her voice slightly breathless. "Then we’re ready to activate the barrier."

You nod, though she’s not looking, and head for the final corner. The wrongness feels stronger here, almost tangible. You crouch, setting the last crystal in place. The glow spreads, linking the four corners of the house in a faint, shimmering line.

"That’s it," Twilight says, standing back to survey her work. Her horn glows brighter as she channels magic into the runes, weaving the lines together into a cohesive pattern. The crystals respond, their light pulsing in time with her magic.

The hum in the air grows stronger, the tension so thick it feels like it’s pressing down on your chest. Twilight’s magic weaves through the runes and crystals, the room filling with a soft, flickering glow. For a moment, everything seems to be working as intended.

But the feeling in the air doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it grows worse.

Twilight finishes the last stroke of chalk, her horn glowing brightly as she channels magic into the runes and crystals. The shimmering lines connecting the crystals pulse in unison, spreading a faint, protective glow throughout the house. The tension in the air shifts, the oppressive wrongness retreating just enough to breathe, though it doesn’t disappear entirely.

"That’s it," Twilight says, exhaling shakily. She steps back to inspect her work, her eyes darting between the glowing runes and the faintly humming crystals. "The wards are active. They should hold against anything trying to get in."

You nod, keeping the rifle slung over your shoulder. "Feels... better," you mutter, though the words taste like a lie. The house feels different now, yes, but not entirely safe. The unease still lingers, like a faint itch at the back of your mind.

Twilight glances at you, then at the nearest window. She moves closer, her hooves clicking softly against the floor as she peers out at the forest. The faint shimmer of the ward lines up perfectly with the edges of the glass, a subtle barrier against whatever might be watching from the shadows.

"It’s stable," she says, sounding relieved. "No signs of interference."

You follow her gaze to the window. Your reflection is faint but visible, standing slightly behind Twilight. It seems fine—normal, even. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"Looks good," you say, stepping away from the window. Twilight’s horn dims as she turns back toward the center of the room, her shoulders finally relaxing.

You move to check another window, glancing at the faint glow of the ward as it shimmers across the glass. Your reflection stares back at you, its expression unreadable in the muted light. Something about it feels... strange, but you can’t put your finger on why. You watch yourself blink, and and move on, thinking for a moment, slowing to a halt.

The realization hits like a slow, creeping chill. Your hand tightens on the rifle strap as you freeze, your eyes locked on the glass. The reflection, perfectly synchronized this time, but the moment sticks in your mind. You’ve never seen yourself blink before.

Twilight’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. "Everything looks good on this side," she says, her tone lighter now. She steps toward you, her hooves tapping softly against the floor. "What about over there?"

You glance at her, then back at the window. The reflection looks normal now, perfectly mirroring your movements as you shift your weight. "It’s fine," you say, your voice tighter than you intended.

Twilight tilts her head, her ears flicking. "You sure? You don’t sound fine."

You hesitate for a moment, then decide against brushing it off. "I saw something weird," you admit, jerking your thumb toward the window. "Thought I saw... myself blink."

Twilight frowns, stepping closer to the window and peering at the glass. Her horn lights up faintly as she examines it, her reflection moving with hers, perfectly synchronized. "It looks fine to me," she says after a moment, turning back to you. "Maybe you’re just tired. Last night wasn’t exactly easy."

"Maybe," you mutter, though the explanation feels hollow. You glance at the window again, your reflection staring back with perfect precision. Everything looks normal now, but the memory of that blink lingers, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Twilight places a hoof gently on your arm, her expression soft. "The wards are up now. Whatever’s out there can’t get in. You can relax."

You nod, though the tension in your chest doesn’t ease. "Yeah," you say quietly. "I guess we’ll see."

Twilight gives you a small smile before stepping away, gathering the leftover supplies to pack back into her saddlebags. You stay by the window a moment longer, watching your reflection as it mirrors your movements flawlessly.

he house settles into an uneasy quiet. Twilight finishes packing the leftover supplies into her saddlebags, her movements calm and methodical, as though trying to set a tone of normalcy. But for you, that strange blink lingers, a sharp splinter of doubt that you can’t quite pry loose.

You glance at the window again, unable to resist. Your reflection is still there, perfectly mimicking your every move. You raise your hand, rub your chin, shift your weight—it all matches flawlessly. But the memory of the blink gnaws at you, making every movement feel like a test.

"Stop staring at it," you mutter under your breath, tearing your eyes away.

Twilight notices your discomfort but doesn’t press. Instead, she moves to the kitchen, pulling out a small book from her bag and flipping through its pages. "I’m going to add a reinforcement spell to the wards later," she says, more to herself than to you. "Just to be sure everything holds overnight."

You grunt in response, your gaze flicking toward the mirror in the hallway. It’s cracked in one corner, a faint web of fractures branching outward, but otherwise intact. Your reflection is there too, faintly distorted by the crack, but still... normal.

For now.

You walk to the living room, sitting heavily on the couch. The rifle rests against your leg, a constant, reassuring weight. Twilight hums softly in the kitchen, the sound blending with the faint creaks of the old house. It’s quiet—too quiet.

Your eyes drift to the window again. The glass is dark now, reflecting the dim interior of the room. You don’t want to look, but your gaze lingers anyway, drawn like a moth to a flame. The reflection seems fine at first, but then something shifts.

It’s subtle—a flicker at the edge of your vision. When you focus on it, you see nothing out of the ordinary. You shake your head slightly, testing it. The reflection follows. You lean forward, and so does it.

Then it blinks again.

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn’t blinked.

You stare, your chest tightening as the reflection tilts its head ever so slightly. You tilt yours in the opposite direction, testing it. This time, it doesn’t follow. It just stares, its expression identical to yours, but the eyes... there’s something in them. Something alive.

"Twilight," you call out, your voice sharp.

She appears in the doorway immediately, her ears perking up. "What is it?"

You gesture toward the window. "Look at this."

She frowns, stepping closer and peering into the glass. Her reflection moves naturally, her every twitch and flick of her tail mirrored perfectly. "It looks fine to me," she says cautiously, glancing back at you. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, your stomach churning. "I saw it blink," you say slowly, your voice low. "When I didn’t."

Twilight’s expression shifts, concern knitting her brows. She studies the window again, her horn glowing faintly. "The wards are holding," she murmurs. "There’s no sign of anything trying to break through."

"Then why—" you start, but the words die in your throat.

The reflection shifts again, so subtly you almost miss it. Twilight turns her head to look at you, and for a moment, her reflection doesn’t move. It just... watches her, its eyes sharper than they should be. Then it catches up, snapping into place as if nothing had happened.

The silence in the house feels oppressive now, heavier than before, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t shrug off. You take a step back from the window, your pulse hammering in your ears. Something’s wrong—more than wrong. Your thoughts spiral as you stare at the glass, your own face staring back, still and unreadable.

It occurs to you, slow and creeping, that the wards wouldn’t have done anything to stop whatever this is. Not if it was already inside.

"Twilight," you say again, your voice quieter this time, strained. "What if... what if it was here before the wards went up?"

She blinks, the question catching her off guard. "That’s not possible," she says quickly, though there’s a tremor in her voice. "We would’ve noticed. I would’ve noticed."

"Would you?" you counter, glancing at the mirror in the hallway. "It’s been quiet all day. Too quiet. And this thing—it doesn’t act like the others. It doesn’t make noise. It doesn’t need to."

Twilight follows your gaze to the mirror, her expression shifting from concern to alarm. "You think it’s been watching us this whole time?"

"It’s like it waited for us to leave.," you reply, your voice grim. The memory of the mimicry—the voices, the way it tried to lure you out of the house—gnaws at you. "It’s not outside. It’s not waiting at the edge of the wards. It’s in here."

Twilight’s horn flares brighter, casting a faint glow over the room. The runes on the floor pulse faintly in response, the crystals humming softly. "I just dont see how it could have slipped past me," she says, though she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than you. "I've been monitoring the area with my magic the whole time"

"Then explain that," you say, pointing at the hallway mirror.

She hesitates, her magic flickering as she steps closer to the mirror. Her reflection moves with her, perfectly synchronized, but you know what you saw. And as you watch now, something feels off again. The reflection seems... too attentive, like it’s studying her.

Twilight leans in closer, her breath fogging the cracked glass. Her reflection mimics the motion, her wide violet eyes locking onto their twin. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, almost imperceptibly, the reflection’s mouth twitches into a faint, unnatural smile.

She stumbles back, her magic flaring in panic. "What was that?!" she cries, her voice breaking.

"Now you see it," you mutter, your grip tightening on the rifle. "It’s not us."

Twilight’s horn glows brighter, her magic crackling as she casts another spell. The mirror shudders, its fractured surface warping under the pressure. But the reflection doesn’t break. It doesn’t crack. It just watches, its smile widening ever so slightly before snapping back into a neutral expression.

"It’s using the reflections," Twilight says, her voice trembling. "It’s... it’s not bound by the wards. Reflections are in-between—they’re neither here nor there."

"Great," you mutter, your voice tight. "So it can just hang around as long as it wants?"

Twilight shakes her head, panic creeping into her features. "We have to do something. If it’s using the mirrors, the windows, the glass... we need to break them."

You glance around the room, the weight of her words sinking in. Every reflective surface in the house—every window, every shard of glass—is a potential doorway for this thing. The thought sends a chill down your spine.

"Start with the mirror," you say, raising the rifle. "I’ll cover you."

Twilight doesn’t argue. Her horn flares again, and with a sharp burst of magic, the mirror shatters, the fractured glass raining down in jagged shards. The sound echoes through the house, unnervingly loud in the silence.

You both stare at the empty frame, the reflective surface now gone. For a moment, the air feels lighter, less oppressive. But then you hear it—a faint, hollow sound, like the echo of footsteps in an empty hall.

You glance at Twilight, her wide eyes mirroring your own unease. "It’s not done," you mutter, gripping the rifle tighter.

Twilight stiffens beside you, her horn glowing brighter.

"It’s playing with us," she whispers, her voice shaking. "We have to break them all."

"Then we better hurry," you reply, your eyes scanning the room. "Because it’s still watching."

The house descends into chaos as you and Twilight move through it, smashing every reflective surface in sight. Her horn glows constantly, casting bursts of magic that shatter mirrors, crack windows, and send shards of glass cascading to the floor. You keep the rifle at the ready, your eyes darting to every corner, every lingering shadow, waiting for the thing to show itself.

The oppressive atmosphere seems to ease with each surface destroyed, the heavy wrongness retreating bit by bit. But it doesn’t vanish completely. There’s still a tension in the air, like a coiled spring waiting to snap.

Finally, you stand in the living room, the last of the larger mirrors shattered at your feet. The house feels quieter now, almost calm. Twilight wipes her brow with a hoof, her magic dimming as she exhales shakily.

"That’s everything," she says, her voice trembling with exhaustion. "There’s nowhere left for it to hide."

You nod, though the rifle remains tight in your grip. "Good," you mutter. "Now maybe this place can feel normal again."

Twilight glances at you, her expression skeptical. "Normal might be asking a lot."

You’re about to respond when a thought strikes you—a cold, creeping realization. "Wait," you say, your voice cutting through the uneasy quiet. "The attic."

Twilight’s ears perk up, and she stares at you, her face pale. "There’s a mirror up there?"

You nod slowly, the weight of the realization settling over you. "A big one. I saw it when I first moved in. Old, dusty... I didn’t think much of it."

Twilight curses under her breath—an odd sound coming from her—and she immediately trots toward the attic stairs. "We need to destroy it. Now."

You follow her, the unease building with every step. The attic door creaks loudly as you pull it open, revealing a narrow staircase leading up into darkness. Twilight lights the way with her horn, the faint glow casting long, flickering shadows on the walls.

The attic is cold and musty, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten things. Boxes and old furniture are piled haphazardly, their edges softened by a layer of dust. And there, at the far end of the room, stands the mirror.

It’s huge—taller than you and framed in ornate, tarnished silver. The glass is dark, almost black, reflecting only faint, distorted outlines of the room. You step closer, your boots creaking on the old floorboards.

"Careful," Twilight warns, her voice low. "We don’t know how strong it is."

You approach the mirror, your reflection faint but visible. You raise the rifle, your movements slow and deliberate. The you in the mirror does the same, perfectly synchronized. You stare at it, searching for any hint of the wrongness you’ve seen before.

But it looks fine. Normal.

"Let me try something first," Twilight says, stepping beside you. Her horn glows, and the light dances across the surface of the mirror. Your reflection remains calm, your twin’s face stoic and unmoving except to match your own.

"Nothing," she mutters, frustration creeping into her voice. "Maybe it—"

You both freeze as a soft creak echoes through the attic. It’s faint, like the sound of a footstep on the floorboards behind you. Slowly, you glance over your shoulder. The room is empty, nothing but the stacked boxes and forgotten furniture.

"Did you hear that?" Twilight whispers.

You nod, your grip on the rifle tightening. "Stay close."

You turn back to the mirror—and your stomach drops.

The reflection is gone.

Your breath catches as your eyes dart to the glass, searching for any trace of it. The mirror reflects the room, the boxes, and Twilight standing beside you, but not you. It’s like you don’t exist.

"Twilight," you say, your voice low and trembling. "It’s not there anymore."

She looks at you, then at the mirror, her eyes widening in horror as she realizes what you mean. "That’s... not possible," she whispers. "It can’t just—"

A floorboard creaks behind you again, louder this time. You whirl around, the rifle raised, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but shadows and the faint, flickering glow of Twilight’s horn.

"Where is it?" you hiss, scanning the room.

Twilight steps closer, her voice shaking. "If it’s not in the mirror anymore, then it—"

Another creak. Closer.

You both freeze, the air thick with tension. Slowly, your gaze drifts downward—and you see it. A faint, dusty footprint, the outline too large and too familiar.

It’s yours.

Twilight’s breath catches as she sees it too, her magic flaring brighter. "It’s here," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "It’s in the room with us."

The attic feels like it’s closing in, the air thick and oppressive. The faint light from Twilight’s horn flickers, casting unnerving shadows that stretch and distort across the cluttered space. The dusty footprint remains, stark against the floorboards, a mocking reminder that the creature is here, somewhere, with you.

"Twilight," you whisper, your voice tight. "Do you see it?"

She doesn’t respond.

You glance at her, your grip on the rifle tightening. She’s standing perfectly still, her head tilted slightly, her eyes fixed on the mirror. The light from her horn continues to flicker, casting her features in an eerie, shifting glow.

"Twilight," you say again, louder this time. "What are you doing?"

Still, she says nothing.

The silence presses down on you, and a cold realization creeps in. Twilight always talks. Always. She mutters under her breath when she’s thinking, asks a dozen questions when she’s nervous. This stillness—this silence—isn’t her.

Your stomach churns as you take a step back, your eyes never leaving her. "Where’s Twilight?" you demand, your voice sharp.

Slowly, unnaturally, her head turns to face you. Her movements are wrong—too smooth, too deliberate, like a puppet on strings. Her wide, violet eyes lock onto yours, empty and unblinking. Then, she raises a hoof and points.

Toward the mirror.

Your breath catches, and you glance at the dark glass. The reflection is warped now, faint shapes shifting just beneath the surface, like something moving in murky water. You squint, trying to make sense of the chaos, and then you see her.

Twilight. The real Twilight.

Her face is pale, her eyes wide with panic as she pounds against the inside of the glass. Her mouth moves frantically, but no sound escapes. She’s trapped.

"Twilight!" you shout, rushing toward the mirror. Her reflection slams her hooves against the surface, her movements frantic. The glass ripples like liquid with each impact, distorting her face into something almost unrecognizable.

"Hold on," you say, your voice shaking. "I’ll get you out."

Behind you, the thing that looks like Twilight doesn’t move. It stands still, watching you with those empty, unblinking eyes. You don’t notice. Your focus is on the mirror, on the desperate figure trapped within.

You reach out, your fingers brushing against the cold surface. The glass shifts under your touch, rippling like water. Twilight’s hoof presses against the inside, meeting your hand. The sensation is chilling, wrong, but you don’t stop. You push harder, determined to pull her out.

"Almost there," you mutter, leaning closer.

And then you hear it.

"Hey! Did you go back up there? Where are you?"

Twilight’s voice. Her real voice.

From downstairs.

Your blood turns to ice. You freeze, your hand still pressed against the mirror. Slowly, you turn your head to look at the Twilight behind you. She’s smiling now, a grotesque, hollow expression that stretches her face inhumanly. Her horn isn’t glowing anymore. It never was.

The realization hits you too late. The cold hoof you’re holding tightens its grip, a vice-like pressure that sends a jolt of panic through you. The mirror ripples violently, the surface pulling at you like a powerful undertow. You try to wrench your hand back, but the hoof refuses to let go.

"Let go!" you shout, your voice cracking with fear.

The thing that looks like Twilight tilts its head further, the grotesque smile widening impossibly, splitting her face in ways no living being’s should. It doesn’t speak. It just watches, its empty eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"Twilight!" you scream, your head snapping toward the stairs, desperate for the real one. But the hoof yanks harder, dragging you toward the mirror with unnatural force.

The surface gives way like water, swallowing your arm up to the elbow. Cold, wet, and suffocating, it feels like being pulled into freezing quicksand. You plant your feet, digging your heels into the floor, but the strength behind the pull is overwhelming.

The last thing you see before the mirror consumes you is the fake Twilight stepping closer, its hollow, mocking smile twisting into a mask of pure malice. Then, with a final, bone-chilling tug, you’re dragged inside.

The air is gone.

You’re submerged in a suffocating void, your ears filled with the sound of rushing water and distant, distorted whispers. Shapes twist and writhe in the darkness around you, their movements erratic and unnatural. You try to scream, but no sound escapes your lips. The cold seeps into your bones, gnawing at your strength, your resolve.

Suddenly, you’re spat out, hitting the ground hard. The impact drives the air—or what feels like air—back into your lungs, and you cough violently, gasping for breath. You’re in a room now, though calling it a room feels wrong. The walls shimmer like liquid glass, reflecting distorted, shifting versions of yourself at every angle. The reflections are wrong. Their eyes linger too long, their expressions alien.

The air tastes metallic, heavy with the scent of rust and decay. The light is dim, flickering faintly from an unseen source, casting long, warped shadows across the reflective surfaces.

"Where am I?" you mutter, your voice trembling.

The reflections don’t answer, but they all smile—slow, deliberate smiles that send a shiver down your spine. One of them tilts its head, the movement eerily familiar, and you realize it’s the same tilt the fake Twilight had.

You spin around, scanning the room, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

The distorted reflections close in around you, their warped, gleaming faces tilting in unison, like predators circling wounded prey. Each movement is subtle, deliberate—an unsettling mimicry of how you might move in a dim, warped mirror. The air feels colder now, damp and heavy, clinging to your skin like a wet sheet.

Your breaths grow faster, ragged, as panic claws at the edges of your mind. "Stay back," you growl, raising the rifle. The cold metal feels almost useless in your hands. You don’t know where to aim. These things aren’t solid—they’re ripples, distortions, malice personified in glass.

The reflections pause, their movements halting unnaturally, and for a moment, everything is still. Too still.

Then they smile again. The exact same smile. Wide, alien, deliberate.

Your vision blurs, panic clouding your thoughts as their warped forms inch closer. Their heads tilt, their smiles stretch, and then their mouths start moving—but no sound comes out. It’s like watching a silent film of yourself, over and over, each face playing a version of you that isn’t quite right.

"Stop it!" you shout, your voice shaking.

They don’t.

One of them jerks forward, and instinct takes over. You squeeze the trigger. The rifle’s deafening roar echoes through the glassy space, and the reflection shatters into jagged fragments, scattering across the floor like shards of liquid mercury.

For a brief moment, there’s silence. Relief flickers in your chest—but it’s gone just as quickly.

The shards reform.

They flow back together like spilled ink, coalescing into something worse. The figure that re-forms is taller now, its limbs elongated, its movements jerky and alien. Its face is still yours, but stretched into something grotesque—its smile frozen in place, wider and more unnatural than before.

You stumble back, raising the rifle again, but your hands are trembling too much to aim. The reflections multiply, their forms warping and shifting with every flicker of light. They’re everywhere now, closing in from every angle.

Your chest tightens as your vision narrows. The world around you feels like it’s collapsing, the glassy walls closing in, the distorted figures leering closer. They reach for you, their hands—or what should be hands—stretching unnaturally, fingers bending in impossible ways.

And then, in your blind panic.

You shut your eyes.

And everything stops.

The air stills, the whispers vanish, and the cold weight pressing on your chest lifts. For a moment, the silence is so complete it feels deafening. You stay frozen, your eyes clenched shut, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

You don’t dare move, don’t dare open your eyes, but you can feel it. The oppressive presence that had been suffocating you has receded, like it’s waiting, unsure what to do now that it’s lost its audience.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you whisper, barely audible, "Twilight? Are you... here?"

No answer.

You slowly take a step forward, keeping your eyes shut tight. Your boots scuff against the strange, glass-like floor, but the silence remains. Whatever was watching you, whatever was hunting you, has stopped, if momentarily.

You stop, breathing heavily. "Okay," you mutter to yourself, your voice shaking.

Carefully, you reach out, your hand brushing against the smooth, cold surface of the nearest wall. It feels solid, stable. Slowly, hesitantly, you move again, feeling your way forward, one cautious step at a time

you inch forward, the suffocating silence stretches on, broken only by the faint scuff of your boots against the glassy floor. Your heart pounds like a drum, loud and erratic in your ears. Each step feels like it could be your last, the weight of unseen eyes pressing on you, waiting for a mistake.

Then you hear it.

A faint voice, distant and muffled, cutting through the oppressive void. "Hey! Are you there? Where are you?"

Twilight.

Your chest tightens, a surge of both relief and confusion hitting you at once. Her voice feels distant, like it’s coming through thick walls or water. But it’s unmistakable. You stop moving, straining to hear, your breath caught in your throat.

"Hello?" Twilight’s voice again, a little louder this time, laced with worry. "Come on, answer me! This isn’t funny!"

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You don’t dare speak—not here, not now. But her voice is like a lifeline, pulling you back from the brink of panic. You take a shaky step forward, hands outstretched, blindly feeling your way through the space.

Her voice comes again, clearer now, as though she’s pacing, calling out from different angles. "If you’re in there, say something! Please!"

The words are slightly garbled, distorted, but they feel real. They cut through the oppressive silence, giving you something to focus on. You move toward her voice, one careful step at a time.

"Where are you?" she calls again, her voice cracking with desperation. "This isn’t—this isn’t like you! Please, just—just let me know you’re okay."

You clench your teeth, swallowing down the fear rising in your chest. Her voice shifts again, fainter now, coming from a different direction. You pivot, your boots sliding slightly against the slick surface.

As you move, you can feel the presence in the room again. It’s subtle, like a faint vibration in the air. The distorted reflections haven’t disappeared; they’re just waiting, silent and still, hovering at the edges of your awareness. The weight of their gaze is suffocating, but they don’t move.

Not while your eyes are closed.

Twilight’s voice grows stronger, louder. "Come on! You can’t just... You can’t leave me here!" Her tone is more frantic now, each word hitting you like a punch to the gut. She’s getting closer—or maybe you are.

Your outstretched hand brushes against something. Smooth, cool, and solid. The mirror? Your heart races as you run your fingers along the surface, searching for any hint of a seam, an opening, anything to escape.

The glass beneath your fingers feels like ice, its surface rippling faintly under your touch. Twilight’s voice grows louder, sharper, as though she’s standing right on the other side.

"I can see you!" she shouts, her voice cracking with urgency. "Don’t stop! You’re almost there!"

Your breath catches. She can see you. Desperation claws at your chest as you press your palm harder against the glass. It flexes beneath your touch, as though the barrier is thin, breakable.

"Twilight!" you shout, your voice trembling. "I’m right here!"

The surface shifts, you cant help but open your eyes, and for a brief moment, you see her. Her face is pale, her wide violet eyes brimming with determination as she stares into the mirror. She reaches out, her hoof meeting your hand through the thin, shimmering divide.

"I’ve got you!" she cries. Her horn flares, casting a brilliant glow over the room, and the glass ripples violently. You feel her magic wrap around you, pulling, tugging, trying to drag you back through the barrier.

The air around you grows heavier, colder, as the oppressive presence stirs. The distorted reflections come alive, their warped forms twisting and writhing, their movements jerky and inhuman. They lunge toward you, their twisted hands reaching, their hollow eyes fixed on your struggling form.

"Pull harder!" you yell, panic seeping into your voice.

Twilight grits her teeth, her magic intensifying. The mirror bends and flexes, the barrier between the two of you straining under the force. The reflections close in, their distorted voices rising in a cacophony of whispers and shrieks.

Then, with a deafening crack, you fall through to the other side.

You hit the floor hard. The room is a chaotic shadows, and the air feels a different type of wrong—heavy, like it’s charged with static. Twilight stands over you, panting, her horn dimming as her magic fades.

"You’re out!" she cries, her voice trembling with relief. "I thought—I thought I lost you!"

You don’t have time to answer. The oppressive chill in the air hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s stronger now. You scramble to your feet, your hands instinctively tightening around the rifle. The mirror behind you isn’t broken—not fully. It’s cracked but still intact, its surface rippling faintly like disturbed water.

The air shifts, and you feel it before you see it. A presence. Heavy, suffocating.

"Twilight," you say, your voice low and urgent. "Stay behind me."

She follows your gaze, her ears flattening as the temperature in the room seems to drop further. The mirror catches the dim light, and from its depths, something emerges.

It’s you.

Or at least, it looks like you. The figure steps out of the shadows, its movements slow, deliberate, and unnervingly fluid. Its face is yours, but pale and lifeless, its eyes black voids that seem to drink in the light. And the smile—wide, unnatural, and fixed, like it’s carved into its face.

"No," Twilight whispers, taking a step back.

The creature tilts its head, its empty eyes locked on you. It doesn’t speak, but the smile grows wider, more grotesque. It takes a step closer, its boots crunching on the shattered glass.

Your heart pounds as you raise the rifle, aiming directly at its chest. "Stay back," you warn, though your voice shakes.

The creature stops, its head tilting again, its expression eerily calm. It looks at you, then at the mirror behind it. Slowly, deliberately, it lifts its hand and points.

You follow its gesture, your gaze flicking to the mirror. The surface ripples again, and for a moment, you think you see something moving—shadows twisting beneath the glass.

"Break it," Twilight says, her voice sharp. "It’s still connected to that thing!"

You don’t hesitate. You swing the rifle around, firing into the mirror with a deafening crash. The glass shatters, pieces flying in every direction. The room seems to shudder, the oppressive presence faltering for a moment.

But the creature doesn’t move. It just stands there, staring at you, its smile finally fading.

As it takes a step closer, you see its lips move. It doesn’t speak—there’s no sound—but the words are unmistakable.

The phrase sends a chill down your spine, freezing you in place. Before you can process it, the creature’s form begins to distort, its edges flickering like static, its movements becoming erratic.

"Do it!" Twilight shouts, her horn sparking with magic. "Now!"

You pull the trigger.

The rifle’s roar fills the room, and the creature’s chest explodes into a spray of dark, glass-like shards. It lets out a silent gasp, its body shuddering violently as cracks spread across its form. The light in its empty eyes dims, and with a final, jerking movement, it collapses.

The creature shatters completely, its remains scattering across the floor. The oppressive weight in the air lifts instantly, the room falling into an eerie, still silence.

Twilight steps closer, her breaths ragged, her eyes fixed on the shards. "Is it... gone?" she whispers.

You lower the rifle slowly, your hands trembling. "Yeah," you mutter, though you’re not sure if you believe it. "It’s gone."

But the words it mouthed still linger in your mind, a haunting echo you can’t shake.

I was a mercy.

No Wall Holds Me Out.

The air feels lighter, but there’s still a gnawing unease in your chest. You can’t forget what it did before it shattered—its lips moving, forming silent, deliberate words.

I was a mercy.

Twilight nudges your arm gently, breaking you out of your daze. "Are you okay?" she asks, her voice soft but urgent.

"I..." You trail off, your throat dry. The words echo in your mind, relentless. "It said something. Or—mouthed something."

Her ears perk up, and she glances at the shards nervously. "What did it say?"

Your grip on the rifle tightens. "It said, I was a mercy."

Twilight stiffens, her wide eyes snapping back to yours. "A mercy?" she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper. "What does that even mean?"

You shake your head, frustration bubbling under the surface. "I don’t know. And I don’t care. It’s gone now, and that’s all that matters."

But deep down, you do care. The words dig into you, twisting like a knife. A mercy? From what? Why would it say that? It doesn’t make sense, and the lack of answers gnaws at you.

Twilight’s horn glows brighter as she casts a quick spell, her magic sweeping across the attic. The room feels cleaner, the air clearer, but the shards of the creature remain. They don’t move, don’t ripple like the mirror did, but their presence feels wrong—like remnants of something that shouldn’t exist.

"We need to get rid of these," she says, her tone firm. "All of them. If there’s even a chance it could come back—"

"It won’t," you cut her off, though your voice lacks conviction. "It can’t."

Twilight doesn’t argue, but the worry in her eyes is plain. She begins collecting the shards with her magic, carefully gathering them into a pile. You watch her for a moment before turning your gaze back to the broken mirror. Its surface is dark now, lifeless, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is still watching you.

"Why would it say that?" Twilight mutters to herself as she works. "A mercy... That doesn’t sound like something a monster would say."

"Maybe it was lying," you snap, more harshly than you intended. "Trying to mess with us, even at the end."

"Maybe," she says quietly, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

You grip the rifle tighter, your eyes scanning the room one last time. The creature is gone—destroyed—but its words linger like a shadow, a reminder that whatever this thing was, it wasn’t just some mindless predator.

And as you leave the attic, following Twilight down the creaking stairs, the question remains:

What was it trying to save you from?

The house feels emptier now, but not in a comforting way. The silence is heavy, the kind that crawls under your skin and makes your breath feel too loud. You and Twilight descend the creaking stairs without a word, the shattered remnants of the creature left behind in the attic.

You set the rifle down by the couch, its cold weight gone from your hands but lingering in your mind. Twilight settles on the other side of the room, her tail tucked tightly around her as she watches you, her wide violet eyes still brimming with concern.

Neither of you makes a move to go back upstairs.

Twilight breaks the silence first, her voice soft but strained. "Do you think it’s really over?"

You shrug, staring at the floorboards. "It’s gone, isn’t it? That’s all that matters."

She doesn’t respond right away, and you can feel her eyes on you, searching for something in your expression. Finally, she sighs. "You’re not planning to sleep tonight, are you?"

You glance at her, your mouth twitching into a dry, humorless smirk. "What gave it away?"

Her ears flick back, and she looks away, her gaze drifting toward the window. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room. "I don’t blame you," she admits. "I’m not sure I can sleep either."

The minutes stretch into silence again, the tension between you both thick but unspoken. Finally, Twilight speaks, her tone lighter, almost thoughtful. "You know, there’s someone else who’s lived in the Everfree for years. Alone."

You frown, leaning back slightly. "What?"

"Zecora," she says, glancing at you. "She’s a zebra. Lives deep in the forest. She’s been there for as long as I can remember. If anyone knows how to handle something like this... it’s her."

You scoff, though it lacks real conviction. "And why hasn’t she been eaten alive by these things?"

Twilight’s expression shifts, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "She’s clever. And she knows the forest better than anyone. She’s got her potions, her wards, her... rhyming."

"Rhyming?" you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

Twilight nods, the faintest flicker of amusement breaking through her weariness. "She speaks in rhymes. All the time. It’s... unique, but she’s good at what she does. She might even be able to explain what just happened."

You glance toward the staircase, the weight of the night pressing down on you. The thought of seeking out someone who actually understands this madness is tempting, but the idea of venturing back into the Everfree...

"She’s not afraid of the forest," Twilight adds, almost as if reading your hesitation. "She knows how to keep the danger away. Maybe she could teach you, too."

You snort, shaking your head. "I’m not planning on staying here long enough to need lessons."

Twilight tilts her head, her expression softening. "You’ve said that before. But... it’s starting to seem like this place has other plans for you."

You glare at her, though there’s no real heat behind it. "I don’t care what plans the forest has for me, Sparkle."

"Neither do I," she replies, her voice gentle. "But I do believe in being prepared."

The room falls quiet again, her words hanging between you like a challenge. You don’t respond. Instead, you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, staring at the floor.

Neither of you makes a move to go back to bed. Even as the hours drag on, and the shadows shift with the rising moon, you both sit there, waiting for the dawn, for the uneasy quiet to finally break.

The pale light of dawn filters through the windows, casting a faint golden glow across the room. The oppressive stillness of the night lingers, but the morning feels lighter, less stifling. Neither you nor Twilight slept, but the thought of staying in the house any longer is unbearable.

"Alright," you mutter, breaking the silence. "Let’s go see this Zecora."

Twilight looks up from where she’s been sitting, her ears perking slightly. She doesn’t say anything at first, but there’s a glimmer of relief in her expression. "You’re sure?" she asks cautiously. "It’s not exactly a short trip."

"I need answers," you reply, standing and stretching out the stiffness in your limbs. "And if she’s been living in that forest for years, she might actually have some."

Twilight nods, her horn glowing faintly as she levitates her saddlebags onto her back. "We’ll have to leave the forest first. Her hut is in a deeper part, closer to the old riverbend. The trails through the Everfree can get... tricky."

You grab the rifle, slinging it over your shoulder. "I’m starting to think ‘tricky’ is an understatement."

Twilight smirks faintly, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "You’re not wrong."

The two of you step out into the morning light, the cool air carrying the faint scent of damp earth and wildflowers. The house stands behind you, its walls casting long shadows across the clearing. For the first time, it feels less like a home and more like a trap—a place you’re desperate to leave, even if only for a while.

The forest looms ahead, its dense canopy swallowing most of the sunlight. The familiar unease settles over you as you step into the underbrush, the rifle in your grip a constant reassurance. Twilight walks beside you, her horn glowing faintly to illuminate the faint trail.

The forest is eerily quiet, the usual chorus of birds and insects conspicuously absent. Your footsteps crunch against the fallen leaves, each sound amplified in the oppressive silence.

"We’ll head to the edge first," Twilight says, keeping her voice low. "Once we’re out of the forest, we can follow the eastern trail back in. It’s safer that way."

"Safer?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "We’re doubling back into the place we’re trying to leave."

"Zecora’s hut is deeper in," she explains. "But there’s a clearer path from the eastern side. Trust me, it’s better than wandering blindly through the middle of the forest."

You grunt in response, unwilling to admit that her plan makes sense. The forest is dense and labyrinthine, and the thought of getting lost in it again sends a chill down your spine.

The journey to the edge of the forest is uneventful, though the tension never fully leaves your shoulders. The sunlight grows brighter as the trees thin, and the open field beyond feels like a breath of fresh air. You step out of the Everfree, the tall grass brushing against your legs, and take a moment to breathe.

Twilight glances at you. "We’re halfway there."

"Let’s keep moving," you say, adjusting the rifle strap. The sooner this is over, the better.

Reentering the forest is worse than leaving it. The light dims almost immediately, the dense canopy blocking out most of the sun. The trail is narrow, winding through thick underbrush and gnarled roots. The air feels colder here, and the faint sounds of the forest seem distant, muffled.

Twilight leads the way, her horn glowing brighter now to light the path. She moves with purpose, but there’s a wariness in her every step. You follow closely, your grip on the rifle tightening as the shadows deepen.

"Zecora’s hut should be just ahead," Twilight whispers, her voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves.

The trail opens into a small clearing, and there it is—a modest hut nestled among the trees, its walls decorated with masks and talismans made of wood and bone. Smoke curls from the chimney, the scent of herbs and spices wafting through the air.

Twilight exhales, a small smile breaking through her tension. "We made it."

You scan the clearing, your eyes lingering on the dark forest beyond the hut. The unease hasn’t left you, and the rifle feels heavier in your hands. "Let’s hope she has answers," you mutter.

Twilight steps forward, her hooves crunching softly on the dirt path. She knocks on the door, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet clearing.

After a moment, the door creaks open, and a zebra steps out. Her eyes are sharp, her striped coat shimmering faintly in the dim light. She looks at you both, her expression calm but curious.

"Twilight Sparkle, what brings you here?" Zecora asks, her voice melodic, each word flowing smoothly into the next. "And who is this stranger you bring near?"

Twilight glances at you before answering. "This is my friend," she says. "We need your help, Zecora. Something... something unnatural is happening in the Everfree."

Zecora’s gaze shifts to you, her eyes lingering on the rifle. "The forest speaks, its whispers loud. Tell me, what has drawn this darkened shroud?"

You exchange a glance with Twilight before stepping forward, your voice firm despite the lingering fear. "We need to know what’s out there—and how to stop it."

Zecora steps aside, motioning for you and Twilight to enter her hut. The interior is small but meticulously organized, the air thick with the scent of dried herbs and simmering brews. Shelves line the walls, filled with jars of powders, roots, and other strange ingredients, some of which you can’t even begin to identify. A bubbling cauldron sits in the center, its contents emitting a faint, earthy aroma.

The zebra’s sharp eyes flick to you as she moves toward a shelf, her steps deliberate and precise. "You speak of darkness that prowls the trees, yet I remain untouched by these." She glances back at you and Twilight. "What you’ve seen, you must relay, for I have my ways to keep beasts at bay."

Twilight wastes no time, recounting the events of the past few nights—the creature in the mirror, the shattered reflections, and the oppressive presence that had filled the house. You remain silent, letting her tell the story, though your hand instinctively tightens around the rifle strap as she describes the creature’s final moments.

When Twilight finishes, Zecora nods thoughtfully, her expression grave. "What you faced is old and sly, a shadow born where mirrors lie. Its kind lingers, drawn by fear, yet it dares not tread too near."

"Why not?" you ask, your voice sharper than intended. "What stops it?"

Zecora meets your gaze, unflinching. "This forest is wild, untamed and vast, yet I’ve lived here long and outlasted the past. With care and wisdom, I hold them at bay, sprinkling a concoction that keeps them away."

She turns to a small wooden chest, opening it to reveal a collection of vials and pouches. She selects one—a small pouch made of burlap—and holds it up. "This mixture I make, from herbs and stone, is why the forest leaves me alone."

Twilight steps closer, her curiosity plain. "What’s in it? Can you show us how to make it?"

Zecora tilts her head, her expression softening slightly. "The recipe is one I’ve honed with care, a balance of elements, strong and rare. To share it is fine, for your need is great, but the brewing takes time to recreate."

She unties the pouch and sprinkles a pinch of the contents onto the ground. The air fills with a sharp, earthy scent, faintly metallic yet oddly comforting. You notice the faint shimmer of light on the floor where the powder lands, like a boundary being drawn.

"This dust repels, a barrier unseen," Zecora explains, her voice calm. "No beast will cross where it’s been."

Twilight looks at the shimmering line with fascination. "Does it work on everything? Even the creature we faced?"

Zecora nods slowly. "The shadow-born fear the scent and glow, for it reminds them of what they must not know. The forest’s secrets they dare not defy, or their fragile forms will wither and die."

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. "So you’re saying this stuff can keep them out?"

Zecora meets your gaze, her calm demeanor unshaken. "If used with care, it will protect. A circle unbroken keeps them in check."

Twilight steps closer to the pouch, her expression thoughtful. "How long does it last?"

"A week, no more," Zecora replies. "Reapply the dust to secure your door."

You glance at the pouch, your mind racing. "And what happens if they’re already inside?"

Zecora’s eyes narrow slightly. "If they linger where the dust has spread, their ties to this world begin to shred. But if they hide before it is laid, their shadows persist, their tricks replayed."

Twilight looks at you, her expression serious. "We need to make this. Enough to protect the house and drive out anything that might still be inside."

You nod reluctantly. "Fine. But we don’t leave until we know how to make it ourselves."

Zecora smiles faintly, her calm confidence reassuring. "Then listen well, and heed my word. For this concoction, ingredients must be stirred."

She begins pulling jars and vials from her shelves, laying them out on a small table. As she works, you can’t help but glance at the forest beyond the hut, the shadows between the trees seeming darker than ever.

Whatever’s out there, you’re not taking any chances.

The air in Zecora’s hut grows heavy as she explains the steps for creating her protective concoction, her rhythmic voice a strange comfort despite the strange circumstances. Twilight listens intently, her horn glowing softly as she takes notes, but your attention keeps drifting to the window. The shadows beyond the trees seem to shift with every flicker of light from Zecora’s cauldron, and you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Then, faintly at first, you hear it.

A whisper.

It’s not a voice, not really—just a hushed sound, like the wind threading through unseen cracks in the walls. It carries no words, only an unsettling cadence that prickles at the edges of your awareness. You glance at Twilight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, her focus locked on Zecora’s demonstration.

Another whisper follows, louder this time. It feels closer, as if it’s right outside the window. Your grip on the rifle tightens. "Did you hear that?" you ask, your voice low.

Twilight looks up, her ears twitching. "Hear what?"

You pause, listening, but the sound is gone. "Nothing," you mutter, though your stomach churns with unease.

The whispers return a few minutes later, louder and more insistent. They swirl around the hut like a circling predator, the tones rising and falling in a pattern that feels almost deliberate. You stand, moving toward the window, but there’s nothing outside—just the dark forest and the faint shimmer of the protective dust Zecora sprinkled earlier.

"Something’s out there," you say, glancing back at the others.

Zecora looks up from her work, her calm expression unwavering. "The forest speaks, as it often will. But its whispers are harmless, mere echoes still."

"That’s not harmless," you retort, gesturing toward the window. "It’s... wrong. Like it’s trying to get in."

Twilight joins you at the window, her horn glowing faintly as she peers into the darkness. The whispers grow fainter as she listens, but they don’t disappear entirely. "It’s just the wind," she says, though her tone lacks conviction. "The Everfree is... strange like that."

The whispers continue, ebbing and flowing like waves lapping against the edge of the hut. They don’t form words, but their presence feels deliberate, as though they’re trying to draw your attention. You take a step back, your pulse quickening. "This doesn’t feel right," you mutter.

Minutes stretch into an uneasy silence. The whispers grow quieter, almost imperceptible, as if retreating—or waiting.

Zecora, unfazed, finishes the mixture, presenting a fresh pouch of the protective dust. "This will hold, if spread with care. The forest’s beasts will not dare."

You take the pouch, the weight of it reassuring in your hand. But as you glance at the window again, you notice something. The shimmer of light from the protective dust outside has dimmed, fading into the shadows.

"Zecora," you say slowly, your eyes fixed on the window. "Your protection... it’s not working."

She frowns, stepping closer to the window. "Impossible," she says, her voice firm. "The barrier’s strength is known and clear."

"Look," you snap, pointing at the dull, lifeless boundary.

Zecora hesitates, her expression faltering for the first time. She moves to the door, opening it cautiously to inspect the dust. Twilight follows, her horn glowing brighter as the two step into the clearing.

You stay inside, your grip on the rifle tightening as the whispers fade completely. The silence that follows is absolute, oppressive.

And then you see it.

On the far edge of the clearing, just beyond the faint light of Twilight’s magic, something glints in the dirt. Bones. They’re scattered among the underbrush, stark against the dark soil. A chill runs down your spine as you realize the arrangement—too clean, too deliberate.

"Twilight," you call out, your voice strained. "Get back inside."

She turns, her eyes wide with confusion. "What is it?"

"Just get back!" you snap, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Zecora doesn’t move. She stands in the clearing, her eyes locked on the bones. Her expression is unreadable, but her breathing grows heavier, almost labored.

"Zecora?" Twilight says, her voice wavering. "What’s wrong?"

The zebra doesn’t answer. Slowly, she steps closer to the bones, her movements hesitant. Her gaze fixes on a particular fragment—a curved piece of a skull—and her expression crumbles.

"These are mine," she whispers, her voice trembling.

Twilight freezes, her eyes darting between Zecora and the bones. "What are you talking about? That doesn’t make sense."

Zecora’s legs wobble, and she sinks to the ground, her breathing shallow. "I remember now... the whispers called... I stepped outside... and they took all."

"Zecora, stop," Twilight pleads, her voice rising. "You’re here. You’ve been talking to us this whole time!"

The zebra shakes her head slowly, her gaze distant. "No... this is not life. I linger, a shadow, a ghost in strife."

You feel the blood drain from your face as the weight of her words sinks in. The protective dust didn’t fail—it never worked. Zecora had been dead long before you arrived.

The silence deepens, pressing down like a physical weight. Twilight steps back, her magic flaring instinctively, casting the clearing in an unsteady light.

Twilight’s horn flares brighter, the trembling light casting jagged shadows across the clearing. The revelation hangs in the air like a stone, heavy and suffocating. You keep your grip tight on the rifle, scanning the edges of the forest for movement. The silence grows heavier, pressing in on your chest, and the whispers that had circled the hut are gone entirely.

No sound at all.

"Zecora," Twilight says again, her voice sharp, trying to draw the zebra back. "This can’t be true. You’re here. I’ve spoken to you, we’ve worked together—this doesn’t make sense!"

Zecora’s breathing slows, her form trembling slightly. "The whispers took my breath away... one fateful night, they came to stay. My soul, it lingers, bound to this wood. I thought my warding dust had stood."

You stare at her, trying to process her words. "You didn’t know you were dead?"

Her head dips slowly, shame etched into her features. "I felt the days, though not the years. The forest soothed my endless fears. I forgot my end, as shadows bind, and left my living self behind."

Twilight looks at you, panic flashing in her wide violet eyes. "We need to get out of here," she says, her voice urgent. "Now."

"Agreed," you say, stepping forward and tugging at her shoulder. "Zecora, you—"

Your words are cut off as the air shifts again, growing impossibly heavy. The silence deepens further, a suffocating void that presses against your eardrums. Twilight’s magic sputters, the glow dimming slightly as her concentration falters.

And then you feel it. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

"Back in the hut," you hiss, gripping Twilight’s foreleg and dragging her toward the door.

Zecora doesn’t follow. She remains kneeling in the clearing, her gaze fixed on her bones. "It comes for silence, to steal your sound. It traps the soul, forever bound."

"Zecora, move!" Twilight cries, her horn sparking with desperation.

But Zecora doesn’t move. Her head tilts slightly, her eyes wide and staring as though she’s listening to something only she can hear. The silence around her grows deeper, impossibly heavy, and then her form begins to dissolve.

"Zecora!" Twilight screams, her voice cracking.

The zebra’s mouth opens as if to speak, but no sound escapes. Her body becomes transparent, wisps of her form spiraling upward like smoke. For a fleeting moment, her gaze meets yours, and you think you see peace in her eyes before she fades completely.

And then, from the stillness, comes a new sound.

Footsteps.

Heavy, deliberate, crunching through the underbrush. They come from all directions, surrounding the clearing, but when you look, there’s nothing there. The silence isn’t just oppressive now—it’s alive, pressing against your skin like a living thing.

"Inside," you growl, pushing Twilight toward the hut.

You slam the door shut behind you, the rifle clutched tightly in your hands. Twilight’s horn flares again, casting the room in jittery light as she stumbles back, her breathing ragged. The oppressive silence remains, thick and unrelenting, but the footsteps stop.

"It’s still out there," you mutter, your eyes darting to the window. The glass is dark, reflecting only the faint light of Twilight’s magic.

Twilight’s voice shakes as she speaks. "What... what was that? What could do that to her?"

"I don’t know," you say, your voice flat, though fear coils in your chest. "But it’s not gone."

As if in response, the silence inside the hut deepens. The faint crackle of the cauldron’s fire disappears. The creaks of the wooden floor vanish. Even your breaths feel muted, swallowed by the void. Twilight looks at you, her mouth moving as if to speak, but no sound comes out.

You reach for her, grabbing her shoulder, and the contact seems to snap her out of it. Her horn flares brighter, and the suffocating stillness retreats slightly, though the oppressive weight remains.

"It’s here," she mouths, her wide eyes darting around the room.

You glance at the window again, your heart pounding. For a moment, you see nothing but your own reflection. But then something shifts. The glass ripples faintly, and a figure begins to take shape—a tall, gaunt form with hollow eyes and elongated limbs. Its head tilts unnaturally, its mouth opening slightly as if to speak, but no words come. Just silence.

It presses a long, thin hand against the glass, and the whispering begins again, faint and distorted, as if coming from deep underwater. The whispers build, louder and louder, until they suddenly stop.

Complete, deafening silence.

The figure vanishes, and Twilight grabs your arm, her horn flaring so brightly it bathes the room in harsh, flickering light. "We have to run," she mouths, though you hear nothing.

You nod, gesturing toward the door. But as you reach for the handle, the silence tightens around you again, like a noose. You glance back at Twilight, and her horrified expression tells you everything.

The Silence has found its way inside.

The silence wraps around you like a suffocating blanket, pressing against your eardrums until they feel ready to burst. Your breathing is shallow, your heart thundering in your chest, but the sound is gone. Everything is gone. No creaking floorboards, no rustling cloth, not even the faint hum of Twilight's magic.

You try to shout, to call out to Twilight, but nothing escapes your lips. Panic surges through you as you see her, mouth moving frantically, her wide eyes darting between you and the dark corner where the Silence stands.

The thing moves slowly, unnaturally, its gaunt form almost gliding across the room. Its hollow eyes lock onto you, its head tilting in that unnerving, puppet-like way. You raise the rifle, your hands trembling as you aim directly at its center mass.

Thoom

The shot echoes through your body, the vibration rattling your bones, but you hear nothing. The Silence doesn’t even flinch. The bullet tears through its translucent form, passing cleanly out the other side and embedding itself in the wall.

It tilts its head again, its smile widening—not mocking, but almost curious, as if studying you.

Twilight’s horn flares, a brilliant burst of violet light erupting from her. The magic slams into the creature, and for the first time, it reacts. Its form ripples violently, like water disturbed by a stone, and it staggers back, its long, spindly limbs twitching unnaturally.

You can feel the pressure ease slightly, the suffocating silence thinning. A faint ringing fills your ears, and you realize you can hear again—just barely. Twilight’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and panicked.

"Keep shooting! Don’t stop!"

You chamber another round, raising the rifle again, but something changes. The Silence's movements shift, its attention snapping to Twilight. Its hollow eyes narrow, and it takes a deliberate step toward her.

Twilight fires another burst of magic, her face a mask of concentration and fear. The spell hits the Silence square in the chest, and for a moment, it falters, its form flickering like a dying flame. But then, it steadies, its head snapping back upright, its gaze locked on Twilight.

Twilight stumbles, her magic flickering wildly as the pressure bears down on her. "I—can’t—" she chokes out, her voice faint and strangled. Her horn dims, and you realize with a sinking feeling what’s happening.

The Silence has switched targets.

The silence around you lifts completely, the world rushing back in with an almost painful clarity. The sound of your own breathing, the creak of the floorboards, the faint hum of Twilight’s magic—they hit you all at once. But Twilight’s gasps are barely audible, her strength waning under the Silence's suffocating focus.

You don’t think. You act.

Gripping the rifle tightly, you swing it like a bat, slamming the butt of it into the Silence's head. The impact jars your arms, but the creature barely reacts, its gaze locked on Twilight. Desperation claws at you as you drop the rifle, lunging forward and grabbing the nearest object—a heavy brass lantern from Zecora’s shelf.

"Get away from her!" you shout, swinging the lantern with all your strength. This time, the Silence flinches, its form rippling again as the lantern connects. Twilight’s magic surges briefly, the violet light brightening as the creature staggers back.

But it doesn’t retreat. It turns its hollow eyes back to you, its gaze piercing and cold. The silence begins to creep back, a low hum building in your ears.

Twilight struggles to her hooves, her horn sparking weakly. "I-it’s feeding," she gasps, her voice strained. "It... can’t take both of us at once!"

Her words hit you like a slap. The Silence can only target one at a time.

"Then keep hitting it!" you shout, your voice sharp and commanding.

Twilight grits her teeth, her magic flaring again. The Silence twists unnaturally, its gaunt form shuddering as it tries to focus its suffocating silence on you once more. You feel the pressure building, the edges of the world beginning to blur.

Twilight’s spell slams into it again, and the silence falters, breaking just long enough for you to grab the rifle. You aim for its head this time, praying that something will work.

You fire. The sound of the shot roars through the hut, and the bullet rips through the Silence's skull. Its hollow eyes widen, and its form begins to crumble, shards of its translucent body breaking off and dissipating into the air like smoke.

The silence shatters completely, the oppressive weight lifting as the Silence collapses in on itself. For a moment, the room is still, the only sound your ragged breathing and Twilight’s faint whimpers.

Then, with a final, haunting ripple, the Silence is gone.

You lower the rifle, your arms trembling as the reality of what just happened crashes down on you. Twilight collapses to the floor, her horn dimming as she gasps for breath.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

She nods weakly, her eyes wide and glassy. "I... think so."

You glance at the shattered remnants of Zecora’s belongings, the broken lantern at your feet, and the empty space where the Silence had stood. "We’re getting out of here," you say firmly, pulling Twilight to her hooves.

She doesn’t argue. Together, you stumble out of the hut, the forest’s shadows stretching long and dark in the early dawn light.

The oppressive shadows of the Everfree Forest give way to the soft, welcoming light of morning as you and Twilight break through the treeline. The transition is abrupt, almost jarring—the chaotic, suffocating energy of the forest replaced by the open fields and gentle breeze of the outskirts of Ponyville. You feel the tension in your chest loosen slightly, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. Not after what you just experienced.

Twilight walks beside you, her steps unsteady but determined. Her mane is disheveled, and her usually bright eyes are dulled with exhaustion. You don’t fare much better; your clothes are torn, and the rifle feels heavier on your back with every step.

"We’re out," Twilight says softly, her voice trembling. It’s unclear whether she’s reassuring you or herself.

You nod, scanning the horizon. Ponyville’s colorful rooftops are visible in the distance, a stark contrast to the dark, twisted canopy of the Everfree. The sight should bring relief, but instead, it feels alien, like a world you don’t quite belong to.

"Keep moving," you mutter, your voice hoarse. "The sooner we get there, the better."

Twilight doesn’t argue. She picks up her pace slightly, her ears flicking nervously as if still listening for the faint whispers that had plagued you in the forest. You follow, your hand instinctively brushing against the rifle for reassurance.

Ponyville comes into full view as you approach, the cheerful bustle of ponies going about their day in stark contrast to the chaos you left behind. The marketplace hums with activity, vendors calling out their wares while ponies chatter and laugh. It’s a scene so normal it feels surreal.

Twilight glances at you, her expression guarded. "We should go to my library. It’s quiet there, and I can send a letter to Princess Celestia. She’ll need to know what happened."

"Fine," you say, your tone clipped. The idea of being surrounded by ponies in your current state makes your skin crawl, but the thought of returning to the forest is even worse.

As you step into the outskirts of town, the chatter quiets. Heads turn, eyes widening as ponies take in your disheveled appearance. You feel their stares, their whispers cutting through the noise like knives. You grip the rifle tighter, your jaw clenching.

"Ignore them," Twilight murmurs, her voice low. "They’re just... curious."

"Yeah, sure," you mutter, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead. The stares don’t bother you as much as the lingering sense of wrongness clinging to your skin. You can still feel it—the presence, the weight of the Silence's gaze, even though you know it’s gone.

Twilight leads you through the town, her steps quick and purposeful. The library—her home—stands at the center, its massive tree trunk carved into a warm, welcoming structure. The sight of it brings a strange sense of relief. At least it’s solid, grounded.

As you step inside, the scent of old books and parchment fills the air. Twilight moves quickly, pulling out parchment and a quill from a nearby desk. Her horn glows as she begins to write, the scratching of the quill a soothing contrast to the chaos in your mind.

You sink into a chair, leaning the rifle against the wall. For the first time since leaving Zecora’s hut, you allow yourself to exhale fully. The quiet of the library feels different from the silence of the forest—lighter, less oppressive.

Twilight finishes her letter, rolling it up neatly before summoning a small burst of magic. The scroll disappears in a flash of light, sent on its way. She turns to you, her expression weary but resolute.

"Princess Celestia will respond soon," she says. "She’ll know what to do."

You nod, though the weight in your chest doesn’t ease. "And what about the forest? Zecora? The... thing?"

Twilight hesitates, her ears drooping slightly. "We’ll figure it out," she says softly. "But for now, we’re safe. You’re safe."

Safe. The word feels hollow, but you don’t argue. Instead, you lean back in the chair, your eyes drifting to the window. The Everfree looms on the horizon, its shadows stretching long and dark. You know you’ve escaped it for now, but the thought of what still lingers in those woods leaves a chill running down your spine.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re out of the forest. But the forest isn’t out of you. And you’re not sure it ever will be.

Author's Note

Did you notice?

Where Have You Gone?

Twilight’s library-home feels much more inviting than the looming shadows of the forest. The scent of parchment, ink, and old wood fills the air, a sharp contrast to the earthy, oppressive atmosphere of the Everfree. Twilight bustles about, her movements slightly hurried as though trying to distract herself.

"So," she says, her voice bright in a way that feels just a little forced, "what do you think? I know you didn’t stay long last time, but now you can actually look around." She glances at you, her wide violet eyes searching for a reaction.

You grunt noncommittally, leaning the rifle against the wall as you glance around. The place is... cozy. It’s well-organized but lived-in, the shelves lined with neatly arranged books of every size and color. A small desk near the window holds a stack of parchment, a quill resting in its inkwell. In the center of the room, a table is scattered with scrolls, some rolled tightly, others unfurled and covered in Twilight’s neat, precise writing.

"It’s a library," you say flatly, though your tone lacks its usual edge. "What do you expect me to say?"

Twilight smiles faintly, her tail swishing. "I expect you to say it’s better than your creepy house in the middle of the forest."

"It’s not creepy," you mutter, though you’re keenly aware of the contrast between this warm, safe space and the suffocating wrongness that had seeped into your home.

Before Twilight can reply, the sound of claws on wood echoes from the stairwell. A small, purple dragon appears, rubbing his eyes as he descends the steps. "Twilight? You’re back already?" His gaze shifts to you, and he freezes. "And... you brought him."

You arch an eyebrow at him. "Nice to see you too, Spike."

The dragon frowns, his arms crossed. "Twilight said you don’t like anyone. She’s been talking about how you’re all grumpy and mysterious."

"Spike!" Twilight hisses, her cheeks flushing slightly.

Spike shrugs. "What? It’s true!"

You smirk faintly, crossing your arms. "She’s not wrong. I don’t like anyone. Especially not kids."

Spike bristles. "I’m not a kid!"

Twilight steps between you, her voice sharp. "Alright, that’s enough. Spike, go get some tea or... or something. Please."

Grumbling under his breath, Spike trudges off toward the kitchen, leaving you and Twilight alone again. The brief exchange seems to have lifted some of the tension in the room, though the memory of the forest lingers between you like a shadow.

Twilight turns back to you, her expression softening. "You should stay here," she says suddenly, her voice firm but not unkind. "At least for a while. The wards on your house will hold for months—you’re not in any danger."

You hesitate, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably on your shoulders. "I can’t just abandon my house. It’s... it’s my home."

Her ears flick, and she steps closer, her tone gentle. "I get that. But after everything we’ve been through—" She pauses, her gaze dropping to the floor. "—I don’t want to leave you. And I don’t think you should be alone right now."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die in your throat. She’s right. You don’t want to admit it—not to her, not to yourself—but the thought of going back to that house, of sitting in its oppressive silence, makes your stomach churn.

Twilight seems to sense your hesitation. She smiles faintly, her expression hopeful. "You’re not used to feeling safe, are you?"

You glance at her sharply, your brows knitting. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," she says carefully, "that Ponyville is different. It’s safe here. You don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder every second."

You huff, crossing your arms. "Doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with it."

She nods, her smile growing slightly. "I know. But you can get used to it. You’ll see."

Spike returns with a tray of tea, grumbling as he sets it on the table. "Here. Don’t spill it. I just cleaned."

You grab a cup without a word, taking a sip as Twilight settles onto the couch beside you. The warmth of the tea and the quiet comfort of the library start to chip away at the tension in your chest.

Twilight glances at you, her voice soft. "Stay for a few days. Just... try it. Please?"

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you stare into the cup, your thoughts racing. The memory of the Silence, of Zecora’s final words, and the oppressive silence of the forest all press against your mind.

Finally, you nod once, gruffly. "Fine. But only for a few days."

Twilight’s smile brightens, relief washing over her features. "Thank you."

Spike mutters something under his breath about having to make extra food, but you barely hear him. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight pressing on your chest begins to ease.

The day drags on, heavy with an unease you can’t shake. Ponyville is quiet, the kind of quiet that would usually be a relief after the constant tension of the Everfree, but instead, it sets you on edge. You keep waiting for something to happen—for a shadow to flicker in the corner of your vision, for whispers to start crawling under the edges of your awareness, for the world to tilt into wrongness again.

But nothing happens.

The ponies outside go about their day, chatting and laughing as they shop and stroll through the market. The sounds of everyday life filter into the library, unremarkable but surreal in their normalcy. You sit on the couch, arms crossed, glaring at nothing in particular. Spike avoids you, busying himself with chores around the library. Twilight occasionally checks on you, offering tea or conversation, but you brush her off each time.

It’s not that you’re ungrateful. It’s just... you’re waiting.

For the sun to dip lower in the sky. For the light to fade. For the safety of the day to dissolve into something darker, something worse.

But the day stays dull, uneventful, like the world has decided to give you a reprieve you’re not sure you deserve.

By the time night falls, you’re exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical exertion. The tension in your shoulders, the constant vigilance, has drained you, leaving you heavy-limbed and irritable. You sit on the couch, your rifle propped against the armrest, staring at the floor while Twilight bustles about upstairs.

She comes down a few minutes later, her mane slightly tousled, and gives you a tentative smile. "The guest bed isn’t set up," she says, her voice light, almost casual. "But my bed’s big enough for two. You can sleep there tonight."

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll take the couch."

Twilight frowns, her ears flicking. "It’s not exactly comfortable. You need real rest after everything we’ve been through."

"I’ve slept in worse places," you say gruffly, leaning back into the cushions. "The couch is fine."

Her frown deepens, and for a moment, it looks like she’s going to argue. But then she sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Alright," she says softly. "If that’s what you want."

You grunt in acknowledgment, closing your eyes and resting your head against the back of the couch. You can hear her retreat upstairs, her hoofsteps slow and hesitant.

The library grows quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of Spike in the kitchen as he finishes cleaning up. You shift on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn’t make your back ache, but the discomfort isn’t just physical. The silence of the library feels too thin, too fragile, like it could break at any moment.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear the soft creak near the stairs. Your eyes snap open to see Twilight standing there, her mane slightly messy, her expression uncertain. She hesitates, glancing toward the couch before taking a tentative step forward.

"You can’t sleep either," you say flatly, already knowing the answer.

Twilight shakes her head, her ears drooping. "I just... after everything, it’s hard to be alone." She pauses, fidgeting with her hoof. "I thought maybe I’d be fine, but... I keep thinking about the forest, and Zecora, and—"

Her voice catches, and she looks away, biting her lip.

You sigh, running a hand over your face. You don’t want to admit it, but you get it. The thought of being alone right now makes your skin crawl, though you’d never say that out loud. Still, you can’t just leave her like this.

"Fine," you mutter, standing and grabbing the blanket from the couch. "Go back to bed. I’ll sit with you until you fall asleep."

Twilight looks up, her eyes wide with gratitude. "Really?"

"Don’t make a big deal out of it," you grumble, brushing past her and heading upstairs.

Her room is warm, lit by the faint glow of a single candle on the nightstand. You settle into the chair by the bed, the rifle resting across your lap. Twilight climbs into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chest, and gives you a small smile.

"Thanks," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

You grunt in response, leaning back in the chair and closing your eyes. You tell yourself it’s just for tonight, just until she falls asleep. But as the minutes stretch on and her breathing evens out, you realize you don’t mind the quiet as much as you thought you would.

It’s not the same oppressive silence of the forest. It’s... better. Safer.

And for now, that’s enough.

The first thing you notice is the stiffness in your neck. The ache travels down your spine, settling heavily in your shoulders. You groan softly, shifting in your seat, and the creak of wood beneath you drags you fully into consciousness. Blinking blearily, you realize the dim light of dawn is filtering through the window, casting soft golden rays across the room.

You’re still in the chair by Twilight’s bed.

You frown, straightening with a wince as you rub the back of your neck. The rifle rests awkwardly across your lap, and Twilight's blanket is tangled at the foot of the bed. She’s still asleep, curled up on her side, her mane a tousled mess. For a moment, she looks peaceful—far removed from the horrors of the forest.

You glance at the window, your grip tightening on the rifle as your eyes dart toward the edges of the room. The shadows seem normal, and the oppressive feeling from the previous days are gone. But the quiet unease in your chest hasn’t left. You know better than to trust the calm.

Your stomach twists as you realize how easily you let your guard down. I fell asleep. The thought grates at you, filling you with equal parts frustration and unease. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t, not after everything.

But nothing happened. The library is intact, the wards still in place, and Twilight... Twilight is safe.

You shift in the chair, the movement causing her to stir. She stretches lazily, her ears flicking as she blinks up at you. "Good morning," she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

"Morning," you mutter, your tone gruff as you stand, the rifle in hand. Your legs protest after being folded in the same position all night, but you ignore the discomfort. "I didn’t mean to fall asleep."

Twilight sits up, rubbing her eyes with a hoof. "You needed it," she says softly. "I’m glad you stayed."

You grunt, turning away to avoid her gaze. The warmth in her voice makes you uncomfortable, though you can’t quite place why. "Don’t get used to it."

She smiles faintly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. "I won’t. But... thank you."

You nod stiffly, heading for the door. "I’ll check downstairs," you say, eager to escape the moment. "See if Spike’s managed not to burn the place down."

The library is quiet when you reach the main floor, the faint smell of tea and toast wafting from the kitchen. Spike’s humming drifts into the room, a casual, tuneless melody that’s oddly comforting in its normalcy.

You set the rifle against the wall, leaning it within easy reach, and sink onto the couch. Your muscles ache, and despite the sleep, your mind feels sluggish. You glance at the window, watching as the town begins to stir. Ponies move about their morning routines, their voices carrying faintly through the glass.

Twilight joins you a few minutes later, her mane slightly more presentable but still showing signs of her restless night. She carries two mugs in her magic, floating one toward you as she settles into the chair opposite.

"Tea," she says simply, her smile small but genuine. "Figured you might need it."

You take the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands. "Thanks," you mutter, taking a sip. The bitterness of the tea is grounding, pulling you further out of the fog of sleep.

Twilight watches you for a moment before speaking. "You don’t have to go back, you know."

Your jaw tightens, and you glance at her. "I have to. It’s my house."

"The wards will hold," she says gently. "And... you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t have to face any of this alone."

The words hang in the air, and you look away, your grip tightening on the mug. "I’ll think about it," you say finally, though the words feel hollow. You’re not ready to let the house go, even if part of you knows she’s right.

Twilight doesn’t push. She just nods, sipping her tea as the morning light fills the library. For now, the silence between you is easy, comfortable. But you know it won’t last. It never does.

The morning drags on with an awkward stillness between you and Twilight. Though she doesn’t say it outright, it’s clear in the way her eyes dart toward you every time you move, in the way she hovers nearby, pretending to busy herself with something unimportant. You know what she’s doing, but you don’t call her out on it. After everything you’ve both been through, you get it. The forest, the Silence, the mirror... it doesn’t just vanish from your mind overnight.

For you, it’s the rifle at your side, the way your fingers twitch toward it at the smallest sound. For her, it’s this need to keep you in her line of sight. Neither of you is admitting how much the fear lingers, but it’s there in every unspoken gesture.

Twilight finally breaks the silence as she refills her tea for the third time. "I was thinking... maybe we could go into town today. I need to meet up with the girls, and you..." She hesitates, her ears flicking nervously. "Well, you haven’t really had a chance to see Ponyville properly."

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the couch. "I’ve seen enough. I’m not exactly the tourist type."

Her nervous smile falters, and she glances down at her cup. "It’s not about that. I just think it might help. You know, being around others for a bit. It’s... safe out there."

The word safe lingers in the air, and you know it’s not just for you. She needs the reminder as much as you do. You glance at the rifle leaning against the wall, your jaw tightening. "I’ll think about it."

It doesn’t take much convincing to get you out the door. You’re restless, the walls of the library starting to feel claustrophobic, and you can tell Twilight’s anxiety is only growing the longer you linger. The streets of Ponyville are alive with activity, ponies bustling about their morning errands, their chatter blending into a low hum that’s both strange and oddly comforting.

Twilight walks beside you, her steps a little too close, her pace matching yours perfectly. She keeps glancing at you, offering the occasional nervous smile as she guides you toward the marketplace.

"You’ve already met most of my friends," she says, her tone overly casual. "Pinkie came to your house... you remember that, right?"

You grunt. "Hard to forget. Pancakes everywhere."

Twilight giggles softly, though the sound feels a bit forced. "And Rarity, Rainbow, and Fluttershy helped reinforce the wards with me. You didn’t say much to them, but they said you seemed... nice enough."

"I doubt they said that," you mutter, scanning the marketplace as ponies move past. A few glance your way, their eyes wide with curiosity, but most seem content to give you a wide berth.

Twilight nudges your side gently. "Okay, maybe they said you were grumpy, but they liked you. Mostly."

You sigh, the corners of your mouth twitching despite yourself. "Who’s left, then?"

"Applejack," she says brightly. "She’s the last one. I thought it’d be good for you to meet her—she’s honest, straightforward. I think you’ll like her."

You don’t respond, your focus shifting to the distant edge of the market where a tall orange mare with a cowboy hat stands beside a cart loaded with apples. She’s chatting with a customer, her voice carrying over the noise with a warm, twangy lilt.

As you approach, Twilight waves. "Applejack! Over here!"

Applejack looks up, her green eyes brightening as she spots Twilight. "Well, howdy, Twi!" she calls back, her voice cheerful. Her gaze shifts to you, her expression curious but welcoming. "And you must be the fella Twilight’s been talkin’ about."

You raise an eyebrow. "That so?"

Twilight flushes slightly. "I might have mentioned you... once or twice."

Applejack chuckles, stepping forward and offering a hoof. "Name’s Applejack. Pleasure to meet ya."

You glance at her hoof, then shake it briefly, her grip firm but not overbearing. "Yeah. Nice to meet you."

Her eyes narrow slightly, studying you with a perceptive gaze that feels like it’s cutting through your carefully constructed walls. "Twi said you’ve had a rough go of it lately. Sounds like the Everfree’s been givin’ ya trouble."

"You could say that," you reply tersely.

Applejack nods, her expression sobering. "Well, if you ever need a hand—or hoof, I guess—you just holler. My family’s dealt with that forest plenty. It’s not somethin’ to take lightly."

Twilight seems to relax a little, her smile softening. "Thanks, Applejack. I thought... maybe he could use some company. You know, get used to being around ponies again."

Applejack gives you a sideways glance, her smirk returning. "Well, sugarcube, you’ve got your work cut out for ya with this one. But don’t worry—we’re a friendly bunch, once you get to know us."

You grunt in acknowledgment, but your attention is already drifting, your gaze scanning the edges of the marketplace. It’s safe here—you know that logically—but the instinct to watch doesn’t fade.

Twilight notices your tension and steps closer, her shoulder brushing yours. "Hey," she says softly. "You okay?"

"Fine," you reply curtly, though the weight in your chest says otherwise.

Applejack watches the exchange, her expression thoughtful. "You’ll settle in," she says, her tone reassuring. "Ponyville’s a good place. Safe, steady. Ain’t nothin’ out here like what you’ve seen in that forest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they settle uneasily in your mind. Safe. You don’t know what to do with that word anymore. All you can do is hope she’s right.

Applejack’s words linger in the air, but you don’t respond. Instead, you shift your focus to the market around you, the busy ponies, the colorful stalls, the chatter and laughter that feels so out of place after everything you’ve been through. Safe. It’s a word you’re not ready to believe, no matter how normal everything looks.

Twilight nudges your side gently. "You’re doing great," she says softly, her voice low enough that only you can hear. "Just... try to relax. I promise, nothing’s going to happen."

You glance at her, the worry in her eyes barely hidden behind her encouraging smile. "I’m not tense," you mutter, though your hand hovering over the rifle strapped across your back tells a different story.

Twilight doesn’t push. She just smiles, her tail flicking lightly as she turns her attention back to Applejack. "So, how’s the harvest going?"

Applejack grins. "Oh, it’s been a good season. Apples are lookin’ fine, and we’re plannin’ a big cider sale next week. You should come by—both of ya."

Twilight’s ears perk up. "That sounds wonderful! Doesn’t it?" She looks at you, her expression hopeful.

You shrug. "I don’t drink."

"Not even Sweet Apple Acres cider?" Applejack asks, her eyebrow arching. "It’s famous all over Equestria."

"I’ll take your word for it," you reply flatly, adjusting the strap on your shoulder.

Applejack chuckles, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before she turns back to Twilight. "Well, you’re always welcome, Twi. And if you’re bringin’ him along, I reckon we can find somethin’ else he’d like."

Twilight’s smile brightens. "Thank you, Applejack. That means a lot."

You shift uncomfortably, not used to this kind of easy generosity. It feels strange, out of place, like you’re an intruder in their idyllic little world. You glance at Twilight, the way her shoulders seem less tense here, the way she smiles so easily with her friend, and a pang of something you can’t quite name tugs at your chest.

"Well," Applejack says, tipping her hat, "I’d best get back to work. But don’t be a stranger, y’all. And if you need anything, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, Applejack," Twilight says warmly.

You give a small nod, and the two of you turn to leave. Twilight keeps close to your side as you weave through the marketplace, her movements light but deliberate, as though she’s trying not to make it obvious how much she’s sticking near you.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of introductions and casual chatter. Twilight insists on stopping by Rarity’s boutique to say hello, where the elegant unicorn greets you with a polite but guarded smile. Fluttershy is next, her soft voice and nervous demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos of the forest. Pinkie Pie makes an appearance at the bakery, bouncing with her usual energy and shoving a cupcake into your hands before you can protest.

It’s... overwhelming.

The colors, the sounds, the constant activity—it’s too much, too bright, too alive. You find yourself retreating further into your own mind, nodding and grunting your way through conversations, barely listening to what anyone is saying.

Twilight notices. She always does.

By the time the two of you return to the library, the sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky. Twilight opens the door, gesturing for you to go in first. You step inside, the familiar scent of books and parchment wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

"That wasn’t so bad, was it?" Twilight asks, her voice light but tentative.

You drop onto the couch, rubbing the back of your neck. "It was... fine."

Twilight sits across from you, her eyes searching your face. "You’re tense."

"I’m always tense," you reply dryly, leaning back and closing your eyes. The quiet of the library feels like a relief after the constant noise of the town.

Twilight fidgets with her hooves, her expression hesitant. "You didn’t have to come with me, you know. I wouldn’t have made you."

You crack an eye open, looking at her. "I know."

She hesitates, then smiles faintly. "I’m glad you did."

You grunt in response, closing your eyes again. The quiet stretches between you, comfortable but heavy with unspoken things. You know she doesn’t want to be alone tonight. And you know, deep down, that neither do you.

The quiet of the library deepens as the sun dips below the horizon, leaving the warm, golden glow of the lamps to light the room. Twilight fidgets in her chair, her gaze flicking between you and the staircase leading to her room. You’re still sprawled on the couch, your rifle resting nearby, the tension in your shoulders refusing to ease.

Twilight clears her throat, breaking the silence. "You know," she begins, her tone casual but clearly deliberate, "the chair isn’t exactly the best place for a good night’s sleep."

You open one eye to look at her, raising an eyebrow. "I survived."

She shifts uncomfortably, her ears flicking. "And the couch... well, it’s not much better, is it?"

You sit up slightly, giving her a flat look. "It’s fine."

Twilight hesitates, her hooves twisting together. "I just mean... you don’t have to sleep down here again. There’s plenty of room in my bed, and—"

"No," you cut her off, leaning back and closing your eyes again. "I’m good here."

She huffs, clearly frustrated, and stands abruptly. Her hooves tap lightly against the floor as she paces, her voice gaining a stubborn edge. "Look, I get it. You don’t want to admit you need any comfort or whatever, but you fell asleep in that chair last night, and now you’re going to try to sleep on a couch that’s clearly too small for you? That doesn’t make any sense!"

You crack an eye open again, watching her as she continues her rant.

"And don’t even try to argue that you’re fine," she adds, pointing a hoof at you. "I’ve seen you rubbing your neck all day. You’re sore, you’re tired, and you’re being stubborn for no reason."

You sit up fully, meeting her determined gaze. "What’s your point, Twilight?"

"My point," she says, stepping closer, "is that you’ll sleep better upstairs. And I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not crammed onto a couch or stuck in that chair again."

You snort softly, shaking your head. "You’re really not going to let this go, are you?"

Her expression softens slightly, but she doesn’t back down. "No. I’m not. Because I... I don’t want to be alone. And I know you don’t either."

The admission hangs in the air, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. She’s right, of course. As much as you hate to admit it, the thought of sitting alone in the dark, the weight of the past few days pressing down on you, is unbearable.

"Fine," you mutter, standing and grabbing your rifle. "But only because you won’t shut up about it."

Twilight smiles, relief washing over her features. "Thank you."

She leads the way upstairs, her movements lighter now, as though a weight has been lifted. You follow reluctantly, your boots heavy against the wooden steps. Her room is warm, the faint glow of her bedside lamp casting soft shadows across the walls.

Twilight climbs into bed, patting the spot beside her. "See? Plenty of room."

The next day dawns much like the previous one, though the lingering tension has softened slightly. Twilight is already awake by the time you stir, her hoofsteps light as she moves about the kitchen. The scent of tea and toast fills the air, and you sit up with a groan, stretching out the stiffness in your back.

"Morning," Twilight calls from the doorway, her voice bright but cautious, like she’s testing the waters.

"Yeah," you mutter, rubbing your neck. "Morning."

After a quiet breakfast, Twilight suggests heading out into town again. You’re reluctant, but her hopeful expression—and the knowledge that she’s still rattled from everything—gets you moving. This time, she leads you toward a colorful, almost garishly bright building that looks like it was plucked straight from a candy store nightmare.

"Welcome to Sugarcube Corner," Twilight says, her tone almost cheerful. "Pinkie’s probably inside. She’s been dying to see you again."

You grunt, your gaze narrowing at the gingerbread-style architecture. "Looks... edible."

Twilight giggles. "It’s not, but I’d bet Pinkie’s tried at least once."

She pushes the door open, and the scent of sugar and baked goods hits you like a wall. Inside, the place is warm and bustling, with ponies chatting at tables and Pinkie Pie bouncing behind the counter, taking orders with her usual boundless energy. When she spots you, her face lights up like the sun.

"Hi, Twilight! Hi, big guy!" she chirps, bounding over. "Oh my gosh, I was just thinking about you! I was like, ‘I hope Mr. Grumpy—’ Oh, wait, wait! I Pinkie Promised! Never mind!"

You sigh, glancing at Twilight. "This is going to be... a lot."

Twilight smirks, shrugging. "It’s Pinkie. You get used to it."

Pinkie beams at you, unfazed. "What can I get you? Cupcake? Muffin? Pie? We’ve got everything!"

You glance at the glass case filled with colorful treats, your stomach growling faintly despite yourself. "I don’t have any of your... currency," you say, gesturing vaguely. "So, nothing."

"Oh, don’t worry about that!" Twilight says, stepping forward. "I’ll cover it. You’re my guest, after all."

You scowl slightly, shifting uncomfortably. "I’m not a charity case."

She grins, her tone teasing. "No, you’re a kept stallion. There’s a difference."

Pinkie gasps dramatically. "Ooooh, scandalous!"

"Don’t start," you mutter, shooting her a glare.

Twilight laughs, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Relax. I don’t mind. Besides, I owe you for... well, everything."

You grumble under your breath but finally relent, pointing to a plain-looking muffin in the case. "That one."

Pinkie bounces back behind the counter, grabbing the muffin and a slice of something colorful for Twilight. "Coming right up!"

As you sit down at a corner table, Twilight slides your muffin across to you. She’s still smiling, but there’s a softness in her expression now, a quiet gratitude that makes you feel a little less prickly.

"You know," she says, breaking off a piece of her slice, "this is nice. Just... normal. After everything, I didn’t think normal would feel possible."

You nod, chewing on your muffin. It’s good—better than you’d expected—but you’re not about to admit it out loud. "Normal’s fine. Just don’t expect me to be like Ms. Smily here."

Twilight laughs softly, her gaze warm. "I’ll take what I can get."

Pinkie flits back over briefly, dropping off a small cupcake "on the house," before bouncing off to another table. Twilight eyes you, her smile growing. "You should try it, It’s really good."

You snort, pushing the cupcake toward her. "Not happening. You eat it."

Twilight takes the cupcake, nibbling on it while watching you out of the corner of her eye. The quiet between you stretches just long enough to feel comfortable, like the edge of something familiar but not quite settled. That is until Pinkie Pie bounds back over, her energy practically vibrating in the air around her.

"So!" Pinkie exclaims, planting herself in front of your table with a wide grin. "I was thinking, you’ve been so *grumpy*—not that I’m calling you that, Pinkie Promise!—but you’ve been, like, majorly Eeyore-ing around town, and I know just the thing to cheer you up!"

You squint at her. "Do I want to know what ‘just the thing’ is?"

"A song!" she declares, her voice high and sing-songy, already snapping into a rhythm.

You groan, leaning back in your chair as if you could physically distance yourself from what was about to happen. "Oh, come on."

But Pinkie is already in full swing, bouncing lightly on her hooves as she belts out the first few lines:

"When life is looking gray,
And the clouds won’t go away,
You’ve got to let the sunshine in—"

"Stop." Your voice is firm, cutting through her melody like a shot. Pinkie halts mid-bounce, her hooves frozen mid-air as she blinks at you in surprise.

Twilight looks up sharply from her cupcake, her ears twitching at your tone. "That was quick," she murmurs, half-teasing, but there’s concern in her eyes.

Pinkie lands softly, her grin dimming just a touch. "What’s wrong? Didn’t like the tune? I can switch it up! Maybe something more jazzy—"

"It’s not the tune," you snap, running a hand over your face. You take a breath, your voice coming out quieter now but no less firm. "It’s the message. You’re trying to... change me. Like if I just smile more or think happy thoughts, everything will magically be fine."

Pinkie tilts her head, her expression open and curious. "Well... yeah! Isn’t that the point? I mean, it’s not magic exactly, but—"

"But that’s not who I am," you interrupt, your gaze steady on her now. "Being ‘grumpy,’ as you call it, is what’s kept me alive. It’s the stubbornness that’s kept me going when things got bad—really bad. If I let myself get too soft, I wouldn’t have made it this far." Your voice grows quieter toward the end, the weight of your words thick in the air. You glance away, gripping the edge of the table like it might ground you.

Pinkie’s ears flick, and she doesn’t bounce this time. Instead, she sits down at the edge of the table, looking up at you with a rare seriousness. "I wasn’t trying to change that part of you," she says softly. "I mean, I don’t know what it’s like to... to go through all the stuff you’ve been through, but I do know that you’re here. You made it. And that stubbornness? It’s part of you, sure, but so is everything else. Maybe I just wanted to remind you of the rest."

You glance at her, your frown less sharp now. "The rest?"

Pinkie nods earnestly. "Yeah! Like... how you’re still here with Twilight, even though you could’ve just shut yourself up in your house and said, ‘Nope, not dealing with ponies.’ Or how you helped her fight those creepy forest things, even though you were probably scared out of your mind. I mean, you’re not just grumpy, you know. You’re kind of... caring, too. Grumpy caring." She smiles softly, like she’s solved some great mystery.

Twilight watches the exchange quietly, her gaze thoughtful as she sips her tea. When you don’t immediately reply, she speaks up. "She’s not wrong. You’ve been through so much, but you still show up. Even if you don’t realize it."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply. "I show up because it’s what I have to do. It’s not some... noble thing."

Pinkie giggles softly. "Maybe. But you still do it. That’s gotta count for something, right?"

You shake your head, though there’s no bite to it. "You two are impossible."

Twilight smiles gently, her wings shifting as she leans forward slightly. "And you’re still here, sitting with us, even though you claim you’d rather be alone. That says a lot, too."

You grunt, not ready to concede but not arguing either. The conversation lulls again, and Pinkie bounces back to her usual self, hopping off the table with a bright grin. "Well! If you ever change your mind about the whole song thing, you know where to find me! I’ve got about a bazillion ideas just waiting!"

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the tiniest tug of a smirk. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As Pinkie trots off to another table, Twilight glances at you, her expression soft but a little tired. "She means well, you know."

"I know," you admit gruffly. "Doesn’t make it any less exhausting."

Twilight laughs lightly, the sound soft and comforting. "Welcome to Ponyville." She pauses, her tone growing more serious. "But... she’s right about one thing. You being here? It does mean something. To me, at least."

You meet her gaze, the honesty in her words catching you off guard. For a moment, you’re not sure what to say, so you settle for a quiet nod. It’s not much, but from the way her shoulders relax slightly, it’s enough.

The peaceful, if somewhat tense, quiet of the afternoon shatters when the front door slams open. Applejack’s frantic voice cuts through the air like a whip, her hooves pounding against the wooden floor as she rushes inside.

“Twilight! Twilight, they’re gone! The foals—Sweetie Belle, Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Button Mash—they were playin’ near the Everfree, and now they’re gone!”

Twilight freezes mid-sip of her tea, her wings flaring in alarm. “What? Gone? How long ago? Did anyone see anything?”

Applejack shakes her head, tears streaking down her face. “Not long—an hour, maybe. We’ve been searchin’, but there ain’t no sign of ’em! I... I don’t know what to do!” Her voice cracks on the last word, and she collapses onto the floor, her hat falling off as she bows her head in despair.

Your gut churns at the mention of the forest. The Everfree. That cursed place that already claimed one life too many. Your hands tighten reflexively on the edge of the table. You don’t want to go back there—not now, not ever. But the way Applejack looks—utterly broken—pulls at something deep and reluctant inside you.

Twilight places a hoof on Applejack’s shoulder, her own expression stricken but composed. “We’ll find them, Applejack. I promise.”

Applejack sniffles, looking up with wide, pleading eyes. “But... but how? Zecora was the one who knew the forest better than anyone, and she’s... she’s gone.”

The room goes silent, heavy with the weight of Zecora’s absence. Twilight glances at you, and you immediately know what’s coming.

“No,” you say flatly, before she can even open her mouth. “Absolutely not.”

“You know the forest better than anypony else now,” Twilight says, her voice trembling but resolute. “After everything we’ve been through, you’re the only one who can do this.”

You scoff, pushing back from the table and standing. “There has to be someone else. Someone better.”

“Who?” Twilight snaps, her voice sharp with desperation. “Zecora’s gone, and the only ponies who’ve survived out there are the ones who’ve stuck close to you!”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. She’s right. Dammit, she’s right, and you know it.

Your eyes flicker to Applejack, still kneeling on the floor, her body wracked with silent sobs. She looks up at you, her tear-streaked face full of desperate hope. “Please,” she whispers. “They’re just foals. My sister... she’s all that keeps me goin'.”

You curse under your breath, your jaw tightening as you look away. Your hand drifts instinctively to your rifle. You clutch it tightly, the cool metal grounding you, but also reminding you of what waits in that forest. The monsters. The whispers. The things you barely survived once.

Twilight steps closer, her voice soft but firm. “I know you’re scared. I am too. But those foals need us. They need you.”

Your grip on the rifle tightens until your knuckles turn white. “You don’t understand. I’m not a hero. I don’t even know if I’m lucky or just too damn stubborn to die.”

“Maybe,” Twilight says, her voice almost a whisper. “But you’re still here. And right now, that’s what matters.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything. You just stand there, clutching your rifle like a lifeline, staring at the ground as the weight of their words presses down on you.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you look up, your eyes hard and resolute. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. And we’re not taking chances.”

Twilight nods, her expression equal parts relief and determination. “Agreed.”

Applejack leaps to her hooves, her voice trembling with gratitude. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You grunt, slinging the rifle over your shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s just find them before it’s too late.”

And with that, you head for the door, your chest tight with dread. The forest waits, dark and hungry, but you’ll face it. You don’t have a choice.

Their Cries Lead You Home.

The forest looms ahead like a gaping maw, its twisted branches stretching out like skeletal fingers against the dimming sky. You tighten your grip on your rifle, the familiar weight grounding you as the three of you approach the edge of the Everfree. The oppressive atmosphere presses against your chest, the air thick and heavy, carrying a faint, unexplainable hum that sets your teeth on edge.

Twilight walks beside you, her horn glowing faintly as she scans the ground. Applejack is a few steps ahead, her head low, her desperate eyes darting over the dirt and grass.

“Here,” Applejack calls out, her voice trembling as she points to a patch of disturbed earth. “This looks like it could be their tracks.”

You step closer, crouching down to examine the faint indentations in the soil. They’re small, erratic—definitely foals. You follow the trail with your eyes, and your stomach twists as it leads straight into the dense undergrowth.

“They went in deep,” you mutter, standing up and glancing at the darkened forest. It feels alive, watching, waiting. “Stupid kids.”

Twilight shoots you a glance but doesn’t say anything. She’s too focused, her ears twitching as she keeps scanning the area.

As you step forward, the hum in the air seems to grow louder, though it’s not a sound exactly. It’s more like a pressure, a weight pressing down on your skull. The trees seem to shift slightly, the shadows between them growing darker, more menacing.

“Something’s wrong,” you say, your voice low. “It feels... different this time.”

Applejack looks at you, her face pale. “Different how?”

“Like it’s trying to bait us,” you reply, your eyes darting between the trees. “Like it knows we’re coming.”

Twilight swallows hard, her horn’s glow intensifying. “The forest has always been... strange. But I think you’re right. It’s almost like it’s aware of us.”

The trail ahead grows fainter, as if the forest itself is trying to obscure it. You kneel down again, scanning the ground for any sign of the foals. A snapped twig here, a patch of disturbed moss there—it’s enough to keep you moving, but barely.

“It’s toying with us,” you mutter, your voice grim. “If it wanted to hide them completely, it could. But it wants us to follow.”

Applejack’s voice shakes. “Why? Why would it do that?”

You hesitate, your mind flashing back to the horrors you’ve already faced in these woods. The skinwalker. The wailing mirror. The whispering thing that stole Zecora’s soul. “It doesn’t need a reason,” you say finally. “It’s just what it does.”

Twilight steps closer to you, her voice quieter now. “Do you think they’re still alive?”

You glance at her, and for a moment, you can’t bring yourself to answer. The truth is, you don’t know. But looking at her wide, fearful eyes, you find yourself unable to be entirely honest. “If they were dead, I don’t think it would bother with the tracks.”

Twilight nods, clinging to the small shred of hope. Applejack wipes at her eyes and steels herself. “Then we keep goin’.”

As you move deeper into the forest, the air grows colder, the shadows thicker. The hum in your skull intensifies, and for a brief moment, you swear you hear something—a faint, high-pitched giggle, like a child’s voice carried on the wind.

You stop dead in your tracks, your rifle snapping to your shoulder. “Did you hear that?”

Twilight and Applejack freeze, their ears swiveling. “Hear what?” Twilight asks, her horn’s glow casting long, eerie shadows on the ground.

You lower your rifle slightly, your heart pounding. “Laughing. A kid’s laugh.”

Applejack’s voice cracks. “Was it Apple Bloom? Did you hear her?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure. The sound was so faint, so fleeting, it could’ve been your imagination—or worse, it could’ve been the forest playing tricks on you. Either way, the feeling that you’re being watched grows stronger with every step.

The trail dips into a dark hollow ahead, the trees closing in like a tunnel. You hesitate, your instincts screaming at you to turn back. But you can’t. Not when those kids are still out there.

“Stay close,” you say, your voice tight. “And don’t let your guard down. This place is messing with us.”

Twilight and Applejack nod, their expressions tense but determined. Together, the three of you step into the hollow, the forest swallowing you whole.

The forest presses in tighter around you, the air thick and still, as if holding its breath. The faint trail of foal tracks leads deeper into the hollow, where the trees twist together like grasping hands. The oppressive hum in the air hasn’t let up, crawling along your nerves with every step.

And then, abruptly, the forest opens into a small clearing.

There, standing amidst the gnarled trees, is a house. A human house. Your stomach flips as you take in the sight. The architecture is unmistakable—weathered wood siding, a slanted roof, a small porch. It looks old, as if it’s been here for decades, but the style is eerily familiar.

“No way,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Twilight steps up beside you, her horn still casting its faint glow. “What is it?” she asks, following your gaze. Then she sees it. “Is that...?”

“It’s a house,” Applejack breathes, her voice trembling. “But... but it don’t look like any house a pony built.”

You shake your head slowly, your grip tightening on your rifle. “That’s because it’s not. It’s... it’s human. Like my place.”

Twilight’s eyes widen, her breath catching. “What? How? Why would there be a human house here?”

You can’t answer. Your mind is racing, your pulse thundering in your ears. The sight of it sends a cold wave of unease through you. It’s impossible. It shouldn’t be here. And yet, there it is, standing in the heart of the Everfree, a relic from another world.

Applejack takes a cautious step forward, her voice tight with fear and hope. “You think... you think the foals are in there?”

You force yourself to focus, scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks. Sure enough, the faint imprints of tiny hooves lead straight to the porch.

“They went inside,” you say, your voice low and grim.

Twilight swallows hard. “Do you think it’s... safe?”

“Nothing in this damn forest is safe,” you mutter, stepping forward despite your own warning. Your rifle feels heavier in your hands now, not as reassuring as it usually does. You pause at the edge of the porch, staring at the door. It’s slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness beyond it.

“What’s the plan?” Applejack asks, her voice shaky.

You glance back at her and Twilight, their faces pale but resolute. “The plan is we go in, get the kids, and get the hell out. Fast.”

Twilight nods, though her legs tremble slightly. Applejack sets her jaw, stepping up beside you. “Then let’s do it.”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. The house looms above you, its windows dark and lifeless. But there’s something about it—something wrong. It feels... aware, like the forest. Like it’s waiting for you.

You push the door open slowly, the hinges creaking loud enough to make you wince. Inside, the air is stale and cold, carrying the faint scent of damp wood and decay. The interior is eerily similar to your own house—same layout, same furniture, but aged and abandoned, like it’s been sitting here, untouched, for decades.

“Sweetie Belle? Apple Bloom?” Applejack calls softly, her voice cracking. “Scootaloo? Button? Are y’all in here?”

No response. The silence is deafening, broken only by the creak of the floorboards under your boots. You step cautiously into the living room, your rifle raised, scanning every shadow.

And then you see it.

On the floor, near the center of the room, are three sets of tiny hoofprints, pressed into the thick layer of dust. They circle around, chaotic and panicked, before leading toward a dark hallway at the back of the house.

“They were here,” you say, your voice tight. “Something scared them.”

Twilight shivers, her horn glowing brighter. “We need to hurry.”

You nod, moving toward the hallway, every muscle in your body tensed. The deeper you go, the colder it gets, and the hum in your skull grows louder, almost unbearable. You can feel the house watching you, its walls closing in, and for the first time in a long time, you wonder if you’ll make it out alive.

The hallway stretches on endlessly, dark and suffocating. Your boots creak against the wooden floor, and the hum in your head grows louder, like a chorus of faint whispers clawing at the edges of your mind. Twilight and Applejack follow close behind, their breathing shallow, their hooves hesitant on the old floorboards.

“Button? Sweetie Belle?” Twilight calls softly, her voice trembling. “If you’re here, say something.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, faintly, from just down the hall, you hear a voice.

“I’m here...” The voice is weak, trembling. It’s a colt’s voice. Button Mash.

As you cautiously walk forward Button Mash is standing just around the corner, his front half visible in the faint glow of Twilight’s horn. His brown coat and propeller hat are streaked with grime, and his eyes are wide, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Applejack gasps, her hooves quickening. “Button! Oh, thank Celestia, you’re okay!” She starts to rush forward, but you throw out an arm, stopping her.

“Wait,” you snap, your eyes narrowing at the darkened corner. “Something’s not right.”

“But that’s him!” Applejack protests, her voice frantic. “He’s just a foal—he’s scared!”

You shake your head, your gut screaming at you to be cautious. “Why is he alone? Where are the others?”

Applejack falters, her eyes darting between you and the corner. Twilight steps closer, her horn glowing brighter as she peers into the shadows. “Button? Where are Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom? Are they with you?”

There’s a long pause, the kind that sends chills crawling up your spine. Then Button’s voice comes again, quieter now, broken. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You take a step forward, your rifle raised, squinting into the darkness behind him.

“Button,” Twilight says, her voice soft but firm, “where are the others? What happened?”

He flinches, his gaze flicking toward you, then back to Twilight. “They’re hiding,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “It’s... it’s here. I tried to run, but it—” He chokes on his words, tears spilling down his face. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

“Button, what are you talking about?” Applejack asks, her voice rising in panic. “Where are my sister and the others?”

Button’s trembling form shifts slightly, his front hooves dragging against the floor as if he’s being pulled. Your stomach knots, the hum in your head growing into a deafening roar. Twilight steps closer, her hornlight flickering, and you instinctively place a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Don’t move,” you say, your voice tight with tension.

Applejack’s breath catches in her throat. “Button, please, where’s Apple Bloom? Where are the others?”

Button flinches, his gaze darting to Applejack. Tears streak down his grime-covered face, and his voice cracks as he stammers, “They... they’re hiding. I didn’t mean to... I didn’t want to...” His words falter, his chest heaving with shallow, ragged breaths.

“Didn’t want to what?” Twilight presses, her voice trembling but steady enough to cut through the tension.

Button’s head lowers, his chin brushing the floor as he whispers, “I didn’t want to bring you here. It made me. I’m... I’m sorry.”

Your blood runs cold as his words sink in. The boy isn’t just scared—he’s trapped. Controlled. Whatever got him is still here, and it’s using him like bait.

You raise your rifle, taking a cautious step forward. “Button, listen to me. Whatever’s making you do this, you have to fight it. Can you hear me? You have to—”

A sound interrupts you, low and wet, like something shifting and squelching just out of sight. The shadows behind Button stir, and you feel your pulse quicken.

“Twilight, more light. Now,” you command, your voice low and sharp.

Her horn flares, illuminating more of the hallway, and that’s when you see it. A mass of flesh, grotesque and writhing, is just beyond the corner. It clings to the walls and floor, its surface glistening like raw meat. Faces press against the pulsing flesh, mouths open in silent screams, eyes wide and pleading. It’s alive—aware—and Button is fused to it, his back half disappearing into the horrifying mass.

Applejack stumbles back, her eyes wide with horror. “What in tarnation...”

Button looks up at you, his tear-streaked face twisted with guilt and despair. “Run,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Please, run.”

The mass shifts, a sickening wet squelch echoing through the hallway as it writhes toward you. The faces embedded in the grotesque expanse ripple like the surface of a lake, rising and sinking, their features twisted in anguish. Eyes roll wildly, lips quiver, and muffled, garbled screams pulse from mouths that seem to form and dissolve as quickly as they appear.

One face rises near Button, its expression frozen in a grotesque mix of agony and pleading. The features are equine, distorted, the muzzle half-melted into the fleshy mass. The mouth opens, but instead of words, only a guttural moan escapes, wet and bubbling.

Your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat as more appendages emerge—hooves, claws, even half-formed limbs that twitch and spasm before being swallowed back into the undulating mass. Some limbs appear to claw at the air, others seem to claw at themselves, as if trying to escape their fate, only to be dragged back in.

"Twilight," you rasp, your voice hoarse. "Get her out. Now."

Twilight doesn’t argue this time, grabbing Applejack with her magic as the mass begins to stretch further down the hallway. Button’s face twists in torment as he’s pulled deeper into the flesh, his small form almost entirely consumed now. His voice reaches you again, trembling and broken.

"I didn’t want to... I didn’t want to..."

And then, like a fresh nightmare, a new face emerges. It rises slowly, the flesh parting like a festering wound. It’s human—a woman’s face, her eyes dull but alive, her mouth moving as if trying to scream. The face is gaunt, hollowed, yet disturbingly familiar in its design, and realization strikes you like a blow to the chest.

It’s her. The owner of the house.

Her face twists, her eyes locking onto yours with a look of recognition and despair so palpable it feels like a knife to your gut. Her lips form words, silent and strained, as if the flesh itself is strangling the sound.

Help me.

The sight paralyzes you for a heartbeat, your mind struggling to process the horror before you. The realization that she’s still aware, still alive inside that monstrosity, is almost too much to bear. And then the flesh shifts again, pulling her face back into its undulating surface, leaving only a faint impression where she had been.

The flesh surges forward, filling the hallway like a tide of writhing, sentient despair. You fire, the bullet tearing into the mass with a wet thunk, spraying black ichor across the walls. The thing flinches, the faces embedded in its grotesque form twisting in silent agony, but it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t die.

“What the hell?” you growl, firing another shot. The mass recoils, quivering, but there’s no permanent damage. It flows forward again, as if your bullets are nothing more than a nuisance.

Twilight glances back at you, her face pale and terrified. “It’s not working! Why isn’t it working?”

You don’t have an answer. Nothing about this makes sense. You’ve faced horrors in this forest before, but this thing—this Flesh—is something else entirely. A living, breathing abomination that defies logic.

“Keep moving!” you shout, stepping back as the flesh stretches closer, its tendrils scraping against the walls and floor. “We can’t fight it in here!”

Applejack stumbles as Twilight drags her along, her eyes wide with terror. “What about Button? We can’t just—”

“He’s gone!” you snap, your voice harsh and breaking. “If we don’t move, we’ll be next!”

Your words sting, but Applejack doesn’t argue. Tears stream down her face as she runs, her hooves pounding against the floor. Twilight glances at you, her horn glowing brighter, and then she turns and bolts, pulling Applejack with her.

You keep firing as you backpedal, the rifle’s deafening roar echoing in the narrow space. Each shot makes the flesh shudder, the faces rippling like water, but it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even slow. It keeps coming, consuming the hallway, swallowing everything in its path.

The doorway to the outside is just ahead. Twilight and Applejack burst through it, the bright light of day spilling into the oppressive darkness of the house. The flesh recoils slightly, as if the light disorients it, but then it surges forward again, undeterred.

“Come on!” Twilight shouts from the doorway, her voice frantic.

You don’t need to be told twice. You turn and sprint, your boots pounding against the floorboards. The air grows cooler as you near the exit, but the wet, slithering sounds of the flesh are right behind you.

As you burst outside, the sunlight hits your face like a slap, and you spin around, raising your rifle. But before you can fire again, Twilight steps forward, her horn blazing with a brilliant, fiery light.

“Get away from him!” she screams, unleashing a beam of concentrated magic. The energy slams into one of the tendrils, and for the first time, the flesh reacts. The scorched tendril lets out a high-pitched screech, curling back on itself like a wounded animal. Smoke rises from the blackened wound, and the entire mass shudders violently.

The Flesh lets out a horrible, wet screech, its tendrils flailing wildly as the scorched section withers and blackens. The mass begins to retract, pulling itself back into the shadows of the house. But it doesn’t stop there—once inside, it surges through a broken window, spilling into the forest like a grotesque tide. You can hear it moving, the trees groaning as it disappears into the Everfree, leaving only silence in its wake.

Twilight collapses to her knees, panting, her horn’s glow fading. Applejack steadies herself against the porch railing, her wide eyes fixed on the forest.

“It’s gone,” Applejack whispers, her voice trembling. “For now, at least.”

You lower your rifle, your hands still shaking as you try to steady your breath. The image of the mass retreating, the scorched tendril curling in pain, burns in your mind. Heat—it was afraid of heat. Not the light, but the searing energy of Twilight’s magic.

“That thing,” Twilight says, her voice hoarse. “It’s... it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. How do we fight something like that?”

You shake your head. “Not here. Not now.” Your voice is rough, exhaustion already setting in. Then a memory surfaces, cutting through the haze: Button’s voice, trembling but clear.

They’re hiding

You turn sharply, staring back at the house. “The others,” you say, your voice low and urgent. “He said the other foals were hiding.”

Twilight’s eyes widen, and she rises unsteadily to her hooves. “Do you think... could they still be inside?”

The air feels heavy as you step back into the house, the oppressive silence gnawing at your nerves. You scan the hallway, noting the faint smears of ichor left behind by the Flesh. The realization that the thing could come back at any moment makes your chest tighten, but you push the thought aside and focus.

“Spread out,” you say, your voice low but firm. “Check everywhere. If they’re hiding, they’ll be somewhere small—somewhere they think the Flesh can’t reach.”

Twilight nods, her horn flaring to life once more, casting a soft glow over the ruined interior. Applejack, though trembling, sets her jaw and follows close behind, her eyes darting anxiously around the room.

You move carefully, your boots creaking against the warped floorboards. The house feels different now, empty but not safe, like the walls themselves are waiting for something to happen. You push open a door, revealing what looks like a small storage room. Empty. Just dust and scattered debris.

“Anything?” Twilight asks from the other side of the hall.

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice clipped. “Keep looking.”

As you near the staircase, something catches your eye—a faint scuff mark on the floor, just outside a small cupboard under the stairs. You crouch down, running a hand over the mark. It’s fresh. Your gut tightens.

“Here,” you call out, motioning for the others.

Twilight and Applejack hurry over as you grip the handle of the cupboard door. You pause for a moment, steadying yourself, then pull it open.

Inside, huddled together and trembling, are Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom. Their wide eyes blink against the sudden light, and for a moment, they look too scared to move. Then, with a cry, Apple Bloom launches herself into Applejack’s waiting forelegs.

“Applejack!” Apple Bloom sobs, clinging to her sister. “I thought... I thought we’d never see you again!”

Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo scramble out after her, collapsing into Twilight’s gentle embrace. Their small bodies shake as they cling to her, their breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“It’s okay,” Twilight whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”

You take a step back, giving them space, but your mind is already racing. Button’s words echo in your head—it made me bring you here. Whatever the Flesh is, it isn’t acting randomly. It’s deliberate. Intentional. And it’s not done.

“I’m checking the rest of the house,” you say abruptly, rising to your feet. Twilight glances up at you, her expression questioning, but you don’t wait for a response. “Stay with them. Keep them calm.”

Without another word, you turn and head deeper into the house, your rifle held tightly against your chest. Something about this place doesn’t sit right with you, and you’re not leaving until you’ve checked every inch.

You find the garage at the back of the house, the heavy wooden door creaking as you push it open. Inside, the space is cluttered but organized—a workbench covered in tools, shelves lined with old supplies, and in the corner, a locked cabinet. Your eyes fall on a rack along the wall, where empty slots mark the absence of weapons.

A gun rack.

Your throat tightens as you scan the space, your gaze landing on an open box of ammunition on the workbench. You step closer, your hands moving automatically as you sift through the box. Bullets. Dozens of them, neatly arranged, some tarnished with age but still usable.

Your heart skips as you recognize the caliber markings on a few of them—they’re for your rifle. You scoop them up, stuffing them into your pockets, then grab the rest of the ammunition. If the former owner of this house had any other weapons, they’re long gone now. The only things left are the bullets.

You pause, staring at the empty gun rack, your thoughts churning. Whoever this person was, they must have known the forest. They must have prepared for it. But they didn’t make it. The image of the woman’s face rising from the Flesh flashes in your mind, and you clench your jaw.

“Not me,” you mutter under your breath, gripping your rifle tightly. “Not this time.”

You return to the others, the weight of the bullets in your pockets oddly reassuring. Twilight looks up as you approach, her expression a mix of relief and curiosity.

“Find anything?” she asks.

You nod, pulling a handful of bullets from your pocket and holding them up. “Ammo. Enough to keep me going. Whoever lived here... they had guns, but they’re gone now.”

You pocket the bullets and gesture toward the door. "We need to leave. Now."

Twilight looks at the foals, still trembling and clinging to her and Applejack. “The sun’s going down. Do you think it’s safe to head back?”

“It’s safer out there than in here,” you reply, your tone sharp. “The Flesh could come back, and I’m not betting our lives on it staying scared. Let’s go.”

Applejack stands, steadying Apple Bloom, who refuses to let go of her leg. “Come on, sugarcube,” she says gently. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

The foals nod, their eyes wide and haunted, and the group moves cautiously toward the door. The air inside the house feels heavier with every step, as if the building itself is reluctant to let you leave. You can feel the weight of unseen eyes on your back, but when you glance over your shoulder, the hallway is empty.

Finally, you burst into the open air, the fading sunlight bathing the clearing in a golden glow. You glance at the forest, your gut twisting. The woods feel alive, almost like they’re holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

“Stick close,” you say, your voice firm as you lead the way toward the path back to Ponyville. “We don’t stop, we don’t split up. If anyone sees anything, you yell.”

Twilight and Applejack nod, ushering the foals forward. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo stick to Twilight like glue, while Apple Bloom keeps her face buried in Applejack’s side. The group moves quickly, the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot the only sound in the oppressive silence of the forest.

The shadows lengthen as the sun dips lower, casting twisted shapes across the ground. The trees seem to close in, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves sends your heart racing, but the Flesh doesn’t appear.

Yet.

“Keep moving,” you say, glancing back to make sure everyone’s still together. Twilight’s horn glows faintly, casting a soft light that barely pushes back the encroaching darkness.

The path feels longer than you remember, every step dragging as the weight of the forest bears down on you. The foals stumble occasionally, their small legs struggling to keep up, but Applejack and Twilight steady them, whispering reassurances as they go.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the edge of the forest comes into view. The golden light of the setting sun spills onto the open fields beyond, and you feel a flicker of relief.

“We’re almost there,” you say, your voice tight. “Just a little further.”

The group breaks into a hurried pace, stumbling out of the forest and into the open air. The weight on your chest lifts slightly as you take a deep breath, the clean air a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the woods.

Twilight collapses onto the grass, her legs shaking as she looks back at the forest. “We made it,” she breathes, her voice shaky. “We actually made it.”

Applejack pulls Apple Bloom close, her tears silent as she holds her sister tightly. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo cling to Twilight, their small bodies trembling but safe.

You stand at the edge of the forest, your rifle still in your hands, your eyes scanning the darkened trees. The Flesh didn’t follow, but the unease in your gut remains.

“It’s not over,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “That thing’s still out there.”

The group finally reaches the safety of the open fields, the oppressive weight of the forest giving way to the familiar warmth of the fading sunlight. As you lead them toward Ponyville, Applejack slows, looking down at the foals with a mixture of relief and anger.

“Apple Bloom,” she says, her voice trembling, “what in tarnation were y’all doin’ near the forest in the first place? You know better! You all know better!”

Apple Bloom stiffens in her sister’s embrace, her wide eyes darting to Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. The three exchange nervous glances before Apple Bloom speaks, her voice quiet and shaky. “We... we saw somethin’. A foal.”

“A foal?” Applejack echoes, her tone rising with disbelief. “What foal?”

Sweetie Belle pipes up, her voice barely above a whisper. “She wasn’t anypony we knew. They were... She was being dragged. By something.”

Scootaloo nods, her small wings twitching as she speaks. “We thought she was a filly in trouble. You know, that we could help her.”

Applejack’s eyes widen in horror. “Dragged by what?”

The foals hesitate, their gazes falling to the ground. Finally, Apple Bloom answers, her voice quivering. “A fleshy tentacle. Like the ones on that... that thing.”

Twilight gasps, her hoof flying to her mouth. You stop in your tracks, turning to face the group, your stomach sinking.

“It was the Flesh,” you say grimly.

Applejack shakes her head, trying to process the words. “Y’all saw that thing? And you followed it? Why?”

“We didn’t know!” Sweetie Belle says, tears welling up in her eyes. “She looked like a foal—like somepony who needed help.”

Scootaloo steps forward, her voice trembling but resolute. “Button was the fastest, so he ran ahead to try and catch up to them.”

Applejack stiffens, her jaw clenching. “And then what?”

Apple Bloom’s voice breaks as she answers. “When Button caught up to them... the foal just said she was sorry, and latched on to em'. It got em'.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the weight of their meaning pressing down on all of you. Twilight closes her eyes, her shoulders sagging as the reality sets in.

“It tricked them,” she whispers. “It lured them in.”

You curse under your breath, your grip tightening on your rifle. The Flesh isn’t just dangerous—it’s calculating, manipulative. It used the image of an innocent foal to draw them out, to feed.

Applejack pulls Apple Bloom closer, her tears falling freely now. “Oh, Apple Bloom... why didn’t y’all come back? Why didn’t you run?”

“We tried,” Sweetie Belle says, her voice cracking. “But it was everywhere. The trees, the ground... it felt like it was alive. We hid because we thought... we thought it would find us if we moved.”

Scootaloo shudders, her eyes wide with fear. “And then Button... he started talking, he was so scared, but he was stuck on getting us to come out. He wasn't right, like the filly.”

Twilight wraps her forelegs around the foals, pulling them close. “You’re safe now,” she says softly, though her voice wavers. “We won’t let it hurt you again.”

You glance back at the forest, your jaw set. The Flesh isn’t just some mindless monster—it’s a predator, and it knows how to hunt.

“We need to warn the others,” you say, your voice low and steady. “If it can mimic ponies, it’ll try this again. We can’t let anyone else fall for it.”

Twilight nods, her expression hardening. “Agreed. But first, we need to get them home. They’ve been through enough.”

Applejack wipes her tears, her voice firm despite the tremble in it. “Come on, y’all. Let’s get back to Ponyville.”

As you all resume your walk, the weight of what the foals said lingers in your mind. The Flesh isn’t just a creature—it’s a cunning, adaptive threat. And if it’s smart enough to lure its prey with deception, then this is far from over.

The journey back to Ponyville is tense, the group moving quickly under the fading light of the setting sun. The foals stay close to Applejack and Twilight, their small forms trembling with exhaustion and fear. You keep a constant watch, your rifle held tightly in your hands, your eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of movement.

By the time you reach the outskirts of town, the last slivers of daylight have vanished, replaced by the soft glow of Ponyville’s lanterns. The familiar sight of the town brings a fleeting sense of relief, but it doesn’t last. The weight of what happened—and what still lingers in the forest—stays heavy on your chest.

As you approach Twilight’s library house, the golden light spilling from its windows feels like a beacon. Twilight picks up her pace, gently ushering the foals along. But as you near the door, you notice something strange: it’s already open.

Twilight freezes, her horn lighting up instinctively. “I didn’t leave it open,” she murmurs, her voice tight with unease.

You step ahead of her, raising your rifle. “Stay back,” you say quietly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

The others halt, Applejack pulling the foals close. You move cautiously up the steps, the door creaking slightly as you push it open wider. The interior is warm, quiet, and well-lit. Nothing appears out of place—books neatly stacked, scrolls resting on the desk. But the air feels different, charged with an energy that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

And then you see her.

Standing near one of the bookshelves, her regal form illuminated by the soft glow of the room, is Princess Celestia. Her serene expression is tinged with something heavier—concern, weariness, perhaps even fear. Her gaze shifts to you as you enter, and her magenta eyes seem to pierce straight through you.

“Princess Celestia?” Twilight gasps, stepping inside. “What are you—”

Celestia raises a hoof, her voice calm but firm. “Twilight. I received your letters.”

Blind in Her Brilliance.

Celestia raises a hoof, her voice calm but firm. “Twilight. I received your letters.” The room falls silent.

Twilight’s eyes widen, realization dawning on her. “You mean about the Reflection, the Mimic, and... the Silence.”

Celestia inclines her head, her expression grave. "Yes, Twilight. The creatures you described in your letters—each is more disturbing than the last. I came as soon as I could."

Twilight’s ears droop slightly. "I didn’t know what else to do. These things... they’re unlike anything we’ve ever dealt with before. And now..." Her voice falters as she glances at the foals, huddled with Applejack near the door.

Celestia follows her gaze, her features softening for a moment before returning to their usual stoic calm. "Twilight, I have faced many evils in my time, but these creatures—the Mimic, the Reflection, and this... Silence—they are not part of any history I know. They are not of Equestria."

You take a step forward, your rifle still in hand. "So what you’re saying is that even you don’t know what we’re up against?"

Celestia turns her gaze to you, and for a moment, the weight of her age and wisdom is apparent. "I have seen much in my centuries, but no... I do not know these creatures. Their nature is foreign to this world." Her eyes flick to your weapon, lingering on it for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "Which makes their presence here all the more troubling."

"Troubling doesn’t even begin to cover it," you say, your voice edged with frustration. "They’re not just here to scare ponies—they’re hunting, killing, taking. If you don’t know what they are, how are we supposed to fight them?"

Celestia’s gaze lingers on you, her expression unreadable but heavy with scrutiny. “That is precisely what troubles me,” she says, her tone measured. “If these creatures are as foreign to Equestria as they seem, then their presence must have a cause. And you...” Her eyes narrow slightly. “You are not of this world either, are you?”

The room falls silent, the weight of her words pressing down like a stone. Twilight’s head snaps up, her nostrils flaring slightly in alarm. “Princess! He’s not one of them—he’s saved us! He saved the foals!”

Celestia’s gaze doesn’t waver from you. “Twilight, I do not doubt your trust in him, but you must understand my concern. His arrival coincides with these creatures. That cannot be a coincidence.”

You meet Celestia’s eyes, your grip on the rifle tightening. “I didn’t ask to be here,” you say, your voice low but steady. “I didn’t bring these things with me. And trust me, I’m just as interested in getting rid of them as you are.”

“Why?” Celestia asks, her voice calm but pointed. “What is it you hope to gain?”

You exhale sharply, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “What I gain is not getting killed. Those things don’t care who or what you are—they’ll kill anything that breathes. You think I want to be anywhere near them? I’m doing this because I have to.”

Applejack steps forward then, her voice firm. “Princess, I don’t know much about him, but he saved my sister. He coulda left us to fend for ourselves, but he didn’t. That’s enough for me.”

Twilight nods, her eyes pleading. “Princess, please. I’ve fought alongside him. He’s kept us safe more times than I can count. We wouldn’t have made it this far without him.”

Celestia’s expression softens slightly as she looks at Twilight and Applejack, but her wariness remains. “Trust is not easily given, nor should it be. But I will respect your judgment, Twilight.”

She turns back to you, her voice firm. “For now, you are an ally. But know this: if your intentions stray from our cause, I will act without hesitation.”

You nod, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Whatever, we’ve got bigger problems.”

Celestia inclines her head. “Indeed. You mentioned these creatures do not leave the Everfree?”

Twilight nods. “No. Everything we’ve faced—the Mimic, the Flesh, the Silence—they’ve all been confined to the forest. It's like..." Twilight’s voice wavers as she continues, “It’s like there’s something keeping them there. They never cross the threshold, no matter how bold they get. Even the Flesh, as horrifying as it was, retreated back into the forest.”

Celestia’s expression darkens, her eyes narrowing slightly. “That boundary is both a relief and a warning. If they are bound to the Everfree, there must be a reason. Something is anchoring them—or containing them.”

Applejack shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the foals, who are still huddled close. “That’s all well and good, but Zecora lived in the Everfree, and look what happened to her. What if—what if somethin’ worse is waitin’ in there?”

The thought sends a chill through the room. Twilight’s horn dims slightly, her face pale as she looks to Celestia. “Zecora was the only one who could navigate the forest safely. If even she...”

“She lived within their domain,” Celestia says softly, her voice tinged with regret. “She was vulnerable because she chose to make her home there. The creatures of the Everfree are bound to its borders, but those who enter its depths are fair game.”

You lean against the wall, your rifle resting on your shoulder. “So as long as we stay out of the forest, we’re safe. But that doesn’t stop them from luring others in, does it? Like they did with the foals.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Celestia agrees, her gaze turning to you. “And that makes them a threat we cannot ignore.”

Twilight hesitates, then speaks, her voice trembling but determined. “Princess, what if the creatures are bound to the Everfree because of its magic? Could the forest itself be the key to understanding them?”

Celestia’s expression softens, her regal composure momentarily giving way to a glimmer of thoughtfulness. “The Everfree is ancient, older than Equestria itself. Its magic is wild, untamed, and perhaps far deeper than we have ever understood. If these creatures are tied to it, then we must learn why.”

“But how?” Applejack asks, her voice edged with frustration. “We can’t just go walkin’ in there like it’s any other place.”

Celestia’s wings shift slightly as she straightens, her regal presence filling the room. “I will lead the effort,” she says with calm authority. “I have faced forces of chaos and darkness before. The creatures of the Everfree, whatever their origin, will not stand against the light of the sun.”

Her words carry a weight of confidence, but you notice the faint flicker of uncertainty in Twilight’s eyes. She glances at you, then back at Celestia. “Princess, these monsters… they aren’t like anything we’ve dealt with before. They don’t play by the same rules.”

Celestia tilts her head, a serene smile forming. “Twilight, I understand your concern, but I have faced threats that seemed insurmountable. I stood against Discord, banished Nightmare Moon, and petrified Tirek. Whatever these creatures are, they can be dealt with.”

Applejack’s voice rises, her tone sharp with anxiety. “And what if they can’t, Princess? What if this ain’t somethin’ you can just blast away with magic?”

Celestia’s serene smile falters ever so slightly, but her confidence remains steadfast. “Then we adapt, Applejack. I understand your fear, but I assure you, there is no force in Equestria—or beyond it—that cannot be met with the light of harmony.”

You step forward, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. “With all due respect, Princess, that kind of thinking is dangerous. These things don’t care about harmony. They don’t care about balance or rules or whatever else you think governs this place. They’re predators.”

Celestia’s gaze turns to you, her expression still calm but with a sharper edge. “And you believe fear is the answer? That we should cower at the edge of the forest and hope they stay within their bounds?”

“No,” you snap, your grip tightening on the rifle. “I think underestimating them is going to get us killed. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what the Flesh did to Button. You didn’t watch the Silence take Zecora. These things are beyond anything you’ve faced, and walking in with the assumption that you can just overpower them is asking for disaster.”

Twilight shifts uncomfortably, clearly torn between her loyalty to Celestia and her trust in you. “Princess,” she says hesitantly, “he’s right. These creatures... they’re different. They don’t fight fair. They don’t even seem to fight; they consume, trick, and manipulate. They use fear and confusion.”

Celestia listens in silence, her calm expression unreadable. When Twilight finishes, she steps toward the door, her movements deliberate. “I understand your warnings, Twilight. And yours,” she says, casting a glance at you. “But I cannot stand idle while these creatures prey upon my subjects. The Everfree may be their domain, but it is part of Equestria, and I will not allow this darkness to fester unchecked.”

Without another word, she steps outside, her golden magic lighting her path as she moves purposefully toward the edge of the Everfree. The sudden decision leaves the room in stunned silence.

“Is she really gonna just walk in there?” Applejack asks, her voice trembling.

You glance at the open door, then shake your head. “If she wants to throw herself to the wolves, that’s on her. I’m not going back in there.”

Twilight whirls on you, desperation flashing in her eyes. “You can’t mean that! She’s right—we can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“You don’t get it,” you say, your voice rising. “I do nothing, I survive. The second I go chasing after something in that cursed forest, I die. I’ve already risked my life more times than I care to count, and if you think I’m running back in there just because she wants to play hero—”

“She’s Celestia!” Twilight shouts, cutting you off. “If anyone can face those creatures and live, it’s her!”

“Then she doesn’t need me,” you snap back. “I’m not here to play backup for someone who doesn’t trust me and thinks she can fix this with sunshine and rainbows.”

Twilight’s nostrils flare as she exhales, her voice trembling with frustration and fear. “She’s my mentor. My teacher. I need her, and I can’t let her go in there alone. Please.” Her tone softens, her eyes pleading. “I trust you. You’ve kept us safe before. Please, come with me.”

Your grip on the rifle tightens, your knuckles white. The weight of her words—and the trust in her voice—hangs heavy on you. You glance at Applejack, who meets your gaze with a nod. “She’s right,” Applejack says quietly. “I don’t trust Celestia’s plan any more than you do, but if she’s goin’ in there, she’ll need all the help she can get.”

You exhale sharply, your mind racing. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t go back, that you’d done enough. But Twilight’s words, her unwavering belief in you, strike a chord you can’t ignore. You curse under your breath, glancing back at the door.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if this goes south, I’m getting you out of there. All of you. No arguments.”

Twilight’s face lights up with relief, and she nods quickly. “Thank you.”

Grumbling to yourself, you step toward the door, your rifle heavy in your hands. The night air is cool and sharp, and Celestia’s golden glow is already visible ahead, leading the way into the dark, twisted expanse of the Everfree. Twilight falls into step beside you, her horn glowing faintly, while Applejack lingers at the edge, keeping watch over the foals.

As you approach the forest, the oppressive energy of the Everfree presses against you, the shadows stretching impossibly long under Celestia’s light. The princess moves with quiet determination, her presence radiating an aura of confidence that feels almost unnatural in this place.

You catch up to her, your voice low and sharp. “What’s the plan here, exactly? Walk in, wave some magic around, and hope the monsters scatter?”

Celestia glances at you, her gaze steady. “The Everfree’s magic is ancient, but it is not invincible. If these creatures are bound to the forest, then its power must sustain them. We find the source, and we sever it.”

You shake your head, the unease in your gut growing. “You’re assuming they’re tied to something we can destroy. What if they’re not?”

Celestia doesn’t answer immediately. When she does, her voice is softer, but no less resolute. “Then we adapt.”

Twilight walks close behind, her ears twitching at every distant sound. The forest seems to close in around you, the thick canopy blocking out the moonlight. The air grows colder, heavier, as if the forest itself is aware of your presence.

Even The Sun Sets.

You jerk back into consciousness, your breath catching in your throat. The first thing you notice is the silence—an oppressive, unnatural stillness. The Everfree’s constant hum, the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of strange creatures—all gone. Your body feels frozen, locked in place, yet you’re standing upright, your rifle still clutched tightly in your hands.

Blinking, you take in your surroundings. You’re no longer in the forest. The dense, suffocating canopy of the Everfree has been replaced by the open night sky. Stars twinkle faintly above, and the edge of Ponyville is just visible in the distance, its lanterns burning steadily.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to piece together what happened. The last thing you remember is walking into the forest with Celestia and Twilight, their lights pushing back the encroaching darkness. The tension, the oppressive weight of the forest, the sound of that guttural hum growing louder—it all blurs together in your mind like a half-remembered nightmare.

But now you’re here, outside the forest, and they’re not.

A nagging feeling pulls at the edges of your mind, a sensation you can’t quite place. It’s not fear or relief—it’s something deeper, like a splinter lodged in your thoughts. Something is wrong.

Your grip tightens on the rifle as you take a step forward, your legs stiff and unsteady. “Twilight?” you call out, your voice hoarse. “Celestia?”

The only response is the whisper of the wind, carrying with it the faint scent of the Everfree. You curse under your breath, your pulse quickening as you turn back toward the forest. The shadows seem darker now, the trees twisting and clawing at the edges of your vision. You don’t want to go back in—not after everything—but the absence of Twilight and Celestia leaves you no choice.

The nagging feeling grows stronger, like a pressure building behind your eyes. It’s not just their absence—it’s something else. Something you’ve forgotten.

You reach for your pocket and find the bullets you gathered still there, the weight of them grounding you slightly. You check your rifle out of habit, ensuring it’s loaded, but the action feels mechanical, distant. Your mind is elsewhere, turning over the same questions.

Why are you outside the forest?
Where are they?
And why does it feel like you were pushed out?

A shiver runs down your spine as you glance at the forest again. The darkness feels alive, pulsing faintly, as if it’s watching you. The memory of Celestia’s words echoes in your mind: The creatures of the Everfree, whatever their origin, will not stand against the light of the sun.

You clench your jaw, the splintering feeling in your mind growing sharper. “Damn it,” you mutter, your voice tight. “What the hell happened in there?”

The silence around you feels almost accusatory, pressing against your ears as you take a step closer to the forest’s edge. Your instincts scream at you to stop, to turn back, to go to Ponyville and regroup. But you can’t shake the gnawing sense that something vital has been left behind—something you need to remember.

“Twilight,” you say again, softer this time, the name hanging in the air like a plea. Still, there’s no answer.

The forest looms before you, its shadows deep and unyielding. For a moment, you consider stepping back in, but the thought sends a jolt of cold terror through your chest. Whatever happened in there, whatever brought you out, the forest doesn’t want you back.

And that might be the most terrifying thing of all.

The chill clinging to your skin deepens as you stand at the forest’s edge, your feet rooted to the ground as though the shadows themselves are holding you back. The nagging feeling in your mind sharpens, like a dull blade pressing against a wound, urging you to remember—but what?

You take a slow, unsteady breath, forcing your mind to focus. Twilight. Celestia. The names reverberate through your thoughts, a grounding mantra against the haze. The images come in fragments: Celestia’s golden light cutting through the darkness, Twilight’s horn glowing softly beside you, the oppressive hum that grew louder with every step. And then—nothing.

Your fingers flex against the stock of your rifle as you look down at your hands. They feel strange, as if you’ve been gripping the weapon far longer than you realized. Your legs ache, your boots are scuffed and caked with mud, and your jacket feels damp, the faint smell of the forest still clinging to it.

You glance back toward Ponyville, the faint glow of lanterns in the distance a stark contrast to the suffocating dark before you. Part of you wants to retreat, to regroup, to find someone—anyone—who can help. But the forest pulls at you, a lingering presence tugging at the edges of your thoughts. It’s as if it’s taunting you, daring you to step back inside.

“Where are they?” you mutter, the words barely audible as your gaze sweeps the treeline. “What the hell happened?”

The silence presses against you, heavy and unnatural, as though the forest itself is holding its breath. You take an involuntary step forward, the toe of your boot brushing the uneven ground just inside the treeline. The air grows colder, the shadows deepening as you approach.

And then, a sound. Faint at first, like a whisper carried on the wind, but growing louder with each passing moment. It’s indistinct—murmured words, perhaps, or the echo of something moving just beyond sight. Your pulse quickens as you strain to listen, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

“Twilight?” you call again, your voice rough and uncertain. “Celestia?”

The whispering stops.

The sudden silence feels deafening, the weight of it crushing against your chest. You stand frozen, your mind racing, every instinct screaming at you to turn back. But before you can move, the whispering starts again—closer this time, clearer.

“You left them.”

The voice is low and distorted, as if it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Your blood runs cold as the words sink in, and you whip around, scanning the trees for any sign of movement.

“You abandoned them.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, your grip tightening on the rifle. Your voice sounds hollow, swallowed by the oppressive stillness. “I didn’t—”

“You ran.”

The voice cuts through you like a blade, the accusation striking a chord deep within your mind. Your breath quickens as you struggle to push back the nagging feeling, the splinter of doubt that the voice has planted.

“No,” you say, louder this time, your voice trembling. “I didn’t run.”

But even as the words leave your lips, the memory fragments in your mind twist, the edges blurring. The golden glow of Celestia’s light, the sound of Twilight’s voice calling out to you, the oppressive hum that grew louder and louder—and then the void. What if you did run? What if—

You shake your head violently, forcing the thought away. “No,” you growl, your voice firm. “That’s not what happened.”

The whispering stops again, the silence stretching on for what feels like an eternity. And then, from somewhere deeper in the forest, a faint glow appears—soft, flickering, and distinctly golden.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Celestia?” you whisper, taking a cautious step forward.

The glow doesn’t move, doesn’t grow closer, but it remains steady, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. It’s enough to spur you on, the nagging feeling in your mind shifting to a sharp, urgent need. If there’s even a chance that she—or Twilight—is still alive, you can’t leave them.

You step into the forest, the rifle steady in your hands, the glow guiding you forward like a distant beacon. The darkness closes in around you, the familiar weight of the Everfree pressing against your chest. But this time, you don’t stop.

They’re still in there. And you’re going to find them—no matter what it takes.

The glow pulses faintly ahead, its golden hue bleeding into the suffocating darkness of the Everfree. You press forward, your breath shallow, your boots crunching against the uneven ground. The rifle feels heavier in your hands, its familiar weight now oddly foreign. You glance down at it, your brow furrowing as unease curls in your gut.

Why does it feel... strange?

You shake your head, dismissing the thought. The glow ahead grows brighter for a moment, then dims, as if beckoning you closer. Your mind feels sluggish, every step pulling you deeper into an oppressive haze that clings to your thoughts like wet wool.

“Celestia?” you call out, your voice muffled as though the air itself is swallowing the sound.

The glow flickers in response, steady but faint, a beacon in the dark. The fog thickens around you, damp and cloying, curling in tendrils that seem to writhe with a will of their own. You clutch the rifle tighter, the motion mechanical, instinctive. But the unease gnaws at you, a nagging sense that something is wrong.

You stop abruptly, staring down at the rifle. For a moment, you can’t quite place what it’s for. The shape is familiar, the weight comforting, but the purpose slips through your fingers like sand. You frown, trying to hold onto the thought, but the more you focus, the more it frays, unraveling into nothingness.

Why are you carrying this?

The glow ahead brightens again, and you feel an inexplicable urge to move toward it. Your feet obey without thought, dragging you deeper into the fog. The forest around you is unnaturally silent, the oppressive stillness broken only by the faint, rhythmic hum that seems to emanate from the glow itself. It vibrates in your chest, resonating with an unsettling familiarity you can’t quite place.

The rifle slips from your hands, falling to the ground with a dull thud. You glance down at it, puzzled, but the sight of it feels distant, unimportant. A vague sense of loss prickles at the edges of your mind, but it’s quickly drowned out by the pull of the glow.

Your pace quickens, the fog growing thicker with every step. Shapes loom in the haze—twisted branches, gnarled roots—but they blur and fade as you approach. Your thoughts grow heavier, sluggish, like they’re being siphoned away. You try to focus, to remember why you’re here, but the memories feel just out of reach, slipping away into the fog.

The glow pulses again, and you see her.

Celestia lies at the base of a massive tree, her radiant form dimmed, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Tendrils of fog cling to her like leeches, pulsing faintly as they siphon away her vitality. Her golden light flickers weakly, barely visible beneath the oppressive haze.

“Celestia,” you murmur, stumbling toward her. The name feels familiar, important, but you can’t remember why.

The glow shifts, and a shape emerges from the fog. At first, it’s indistinct—just a mass of bioluminescent tendrils pulsing with an unnatural light. But as it moves closer, its form sharpens. The Fogcrawler.

The creature’s insect-like body is massive, its exoskeleton shimmering faintly in the dim light. Its legs are long and spindly, disappearing into the thick fog that shrouds it. Its glowing core pulses within its chest, illuminating the grotesque, segmented limbs and the faint outline of a maw that seems to ripple and shift as it moves.

You take a step back, your heart pounding. There’s something you’re supposed to do, something important, but the thought slips away before you can grasp it. The fog presses against your mind, erasing your intent, your memories, leaving only a faint sense of urgency.

The Fogcrawler inches closer to Celestia, its tendrils writhing, feeding. Her eyes flutter open briefly, her gaze distant and unfocused. She doesn’t see you.

“Stop,” you say weakly, your voice barely audible. The words feel hollow, meaningless. What are you supposed to do? How do you fight this? You glance down, searching for... something. Your hands are empty.

The rifle. Where is your rifle?

The question slips away almost as soon as you think it. You clutch at your head, frustration bubbling up as your thoughts unravel further. The Fogcrawler’s glow intensifies, and the hum deepens, vibrating through your chest, pulling you toward its light.

The closer you get, the more the memories fade, until you’re standing mere feet away, staring at the creature with a hollow, desperate sense of loss. You can’t remember why you’re here, what you’re supposed to do, or even your own name.

All that remains is the light—and the fog.

You jerk back into awareness, standing once again at the edge of the Everfree Forest. The open sky stretches above you, stars faintly twinkling, and Ponyville’s lanterns flicker in the distance. Your heart pounds in your chest, though you don’t know why. The forest looms behind you, silent and impenetrable, as if mocking your disorientation.

Your hands are empty, though you vaguely remember holding something important. You glance down at them, flexing your fingers. A dull ache pulses in your temples, the sensation like a phantom whisper of something you’ve lost. You try to focus, to piece together the frayed edges of your thoughts.

But there’s nothing.

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, the words feeling hollow. You clench your fists, anger simmering beneath your confusion. Something happened. Something you can’t remember. It’s not just a blank space—it’s an absence you can feel, a nagging void that refuses to be ignored.

You glance back at the forest, the darkened treeline stretching endlessly before you. The air here feels different, charged with a weight you can’t shake. Whatever happened inside, whatever pushed you out—it’s still in there. And so is Celestia.

But you can’t remember why.

The thought stabs at you like a knife, frustration boiling over as you turn sharply toward Ponyville. The town feels impossibly distant, the soft glow of its lights offering no comfort. Your boots crunch against the dirt path as you move toward it, your mind racing.

You need something. A way to hold on. A way to stop forgetting.

When you reach the outskirts of Ponyville, the quiet hum of the village at night feels alien, disconnected from the gnawing tension in your chest. You find a small shop with its door still ajar—one of the late-night general stores. The bell jingles softly as you step inside, the sound strangely out of place against your frayed nerves.

“Help you?” the shopkeeper, a sleepy-looking stallion, asks from behind the counter, his eyes barely lifting from the book he’s reading.

“I need a pen,” you say tersely, your voice sharp. You glance around the shop, spotting a small rack of quills, inkwells, and other writing supplies. Without waiting for the shopkeeper’s response, you grab a simple pen and a small notepad.

“That’ll be five bits,” the stallion says, looking up now, his tone tinged with mild annoyance.

You hesitate for a moment before realizing you don’t have any of their currency. “Put it on Twilight’s tab,” you say briskly, already turning toward the door.

“Wait—what?” the shopkeeper calls after you, but you’re already out the door, the pen and notepad clutched tightly in your hands.

Back outside, you pause, leaning against a lamppost. The warm glow above you contrasts sharply with the cold, oppressive weight you know waits back in the forest. Your fingers grip the pen as you flip open the notepad.

You hesitate, unsure what to write. The words feel important, like they need to anchor you, but your thoughts are disjointed, slipping through your fingers like water.

Finally, you scrawl a single line: Remember. Don’t stop writing.

The words look small, insignificant on the page, but the act of writing them feels grounding. You write them again, pressing harder this time. Remember. Don’t stop writing.

With the notepad in hand, you turn back toward the forest. The darkness looms ahead, and the faint scent of damp earth fills your lungs as you approach. The weight in your chest returns, heavier now, like the forest is pulling at you.

You stop just short of the treeline, flipping open the notepad again to add a new line: Celestia. Twilight. The forest.

The pen trembles in your grip as you stare at the words. You don’t know if they’ll be enough, but they’re all you have.

Taking a deep breath, you step into the Everfree, the fog swallowing you whole once again.

The fog envelops you as you step into the Everfree, its damp tendrils clinging to your skin and weighing down your thoughts. The notepad and pen feel solid in your hands, the only anchor against the oppressive haze. You glance at the notepad, reading the words you’ve scrawled again:

Remember. Don’t stop writing.
Celestia. Twilight. The forest.

You nod to yourself, gripping the pen tightly, the small act grounding you. Each step into the forest feels heavier, the familiar sounds of the Everfree muffled by the growing fog. The oppressive weight of the place presses against your mind, and that nagging absence returns, clawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Your boot crunches against something metallic, the sound startlingly loud in the thick silence. You look down and see the rifle lying across your path, half-buried in the dirt. You freeze, staring at it. It feels familiar, important, but the purpose eludes you. It’s as though the fog has hollowed out the memory, leaving only a faint echo of recognition.

You crouch down, reaching for it instinctively, but your fingers hesitate just before touching the cold metal. A thought bubbles up—fleeting, fragile: What is this? The question shatters into nothing before you can grasp it. You blink, shaking your head, and stand again, stepping over the rifle and continuing forward.

The glow ahead pulses faintly, a beacon cutting through the fog. The hum returns, low and resonant, vibrating through your chest. You glance down at the notepad in your hands, flipping to the next blank page.

I passed something. It was important.

You write the words quickly, the act of writing pulling you back from the fog’s grip. But even as you jot the note, the words blur, slipping from your understanding. You stare at them, frustration mounting. What do they mean? Why are you holding this?

The glow brightens as you draw closer, the fog thickening around you. The notepad feels heavy now, the pen foreign in your hand. You glance down at the page again, but the marks on it don’t make sense. They’re shapes, meaningless and disjointed. You squint, trying to focus, but the effort feels like pushing through quicksand.

The hum intensifies, and your legs feel leaden. You stumble forward, the glowing core of the Fogcrawler coming into view. Its bioluminescent light pulses rhythmically, hypnotically, the massive insect-like creature barely visible through the haze. Tendrils of fog writhe and shift around it, feeding on the golden light that flickers weakly beneath its towering form.

Celestia.

The thought is faint, fragile, a whisper in the storm. You take a step closer, your knees threatening to buckle under the weight of the fog. The words in the notepad are incomprehensible now, their meaning stripped away. You clutch it tightly, the pen dangling uselessly in your hand.

The creature’s core pulses brighter as you approach, the hum resonating through your skull. Your thoughts dissolve entirely, leaving only raw, instinctive fear. The Fogcrawler looms above you, its segmented limbs shifting faintly as the glow in its chest throbs like a heartbeat. You reach out—toward what, you don’t know. The fog swirls around you, thick and suffocating.

And then, the world twists.

You’re standing at the edge of the forest again.

The open sky stretches above, the distant lights of Ponyville flickering in the night. You’re gasping for breath, your hands trembling as they clutch the notepad and pen. The pages are smeared faintly with dirt where your fingers have pressed against them.

You look down at yourself. Your boots are scuffed, the knees of your pants caked with mud. Your body feels weak, drained, but your mind is racing, the absence screaming at you now. You clutch the notepad tightly, staring with faint impressions of your words.

“What... what’s happening to me?” you whisper.

The forest looms behind you, silent and unyielding. The glow is gone, but the memory—or the void where it should be—remains. You take a step back, your legs trembling, but the thought of leaving twists your stomach.

They’re still in there. Celestia. Twilight.

And so is whatever did this to you.

You stand at the edge of the forest again, the faint light of Ponyville behind you, the suffocating darkness of the Everfree ahead. The notepad in your hand feels heavier this time, its pages an accusation you can’t ignore. You flip it open, staring at the faint smudges of the previous attempt. This time, you’ll do better. You’ll hold onto something.

You write quickly, pressing hard enough to indent the page:

This is my rifle. It is a weapon. Remember it. Don’t stop writing.

The letters feel solid on the page, their presence grounding you. You glance at the forest, the oppressive weight of its shadows already gnawing at your resolve. Taking a deep breath, you step forward, the pen poised to write.

The fog greets you almost immediately, curling around your body like a damp shroud. The air grows colder, heavier, the hum faint at first but building with every step. You flip back to the page, reading the words again.

This is my rifle. It is a weapon. Remember it.

You nod to yourself, clutching the notepad tightly. The forest feels alive around you, the fog shifting unnaturally, obscuring shapes that flicker in and out of sight. Your breath comes in shallow gasps as you move deeper, the glow ahead pulsing faintly through the haze.

Your boot catches on something solid, sending a dull metallic sound echoing through the fog. You stop, looking down, and see the rifle lying across your path, half-buried in the dirt. Your chest tightens as the fog presses against your thoughts, the recognition of what it is already slipping away.

Before it can vanish entirely, you crouch down, pulling the notepad open and writing quickly:

This is my rifle. It shoots. I need it to fight.

The words blur as soon as you write them, the edges of their meaning fraying, but you force yourself to read them aloud. “Rifle. Shoots. I need it.” The repetition feels like grasping at a rope in a storm, the effort barely keeping you tethered to the thought.

You reach for the rifle, your fingers brushing against the cold metal. For a moment, its weight feels reassuring, familiar. You pick it up, cradling it in your hands. But as you rise, the fog thickens, the hum growing louder, and the memory begins to slip again.

You flip to the notepad, forcing yourself to write:

I picked up the rifle. It is mine. Do not drop it.

The words feel distant, hollow, but you press on, walking toward the glow. The Fogcrawler’s hum grows louder, resonating through your body, the bioluminescent pulse of its core drawing you closer. The weight of the rifle in your hands fades, its purpose slipping further from your grasp.

You look at the notepad again, the scrawled words still there. You stare at them, trying to focus, but the letters twist, reshaping themselves into unfamiliar shapes. Your breathing quickens as you force the pen to move, writing blindly.

Rifle. Remember the rifle. Remember me.

The Fogcrawler’s glow is blinding now, the hum deafening. The rifle falls from your hands, forgotten, as you stumble closer. The notepad feels foreign, meaningless in your grip, and you let it slip from your fingers.

The fog swirls around you, erasing everything.

And then, you’re outside the forest again.

The open sky stretches above, the distant lights of Ponyville flickering faintly. You clutch at your chest, gasping for breath, your hands trembling.

You drop to your knees, with shaking hands. The words you wrote are gone, lost to the forest. But something new lingers in your mind—a faint, fleeting memory of the cold metal against your hands, the weight of the rifle before it slipped from your grasp.

“I had it,” you whisper, the realization like a knife twisting in your chest. “I had it.”

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

The forest looms behind you, waiting. You stand again, clutching the notepad, your resolve hardening. This time, you’ll try again. This time, you’ll hold onto something more.

You head back to Ponyville, your legs heavy and your chest tight. The faint glow of the lanterns offers no comfort, but it’s enough to guide you to another late-night shop. This time, the shopkeeper just dully waves you off when you grab another notepad and a pen from the counter, muttering something about “adding it to the tab.”

With the fresh notepad tucked under your arm, you step outside and lean against the lamppost again. You pull out the pen and begin to write with deliberate precision, each word etched deeply into the page.

This is my rifle. It is a weapon. I use it to fight.

The forest will make me forget. The rifle is important. Do not drop it. Do not let go.

Landmarks: The twisted oak. The three jagged rocks. The ridge with the glowing moss.

Shoot the light when you see it. Aim from the ridge. Do not go closer.

You flip back through the pages, reading the words aloud, embedding them into your thoughts. Then, you use the pen to write the most crucial reminder on your arm: SHOOT THE LIGHT FROM THE RIDGE.

Taking a deep breath, you turn back toward the Everfree. This time, you’ll hold on. You have to.

The fog greets you again as you step inside, curling around you like a living thing. The rifle is not where you left it, its closer, half-buried in the dirt. You stop, crouching to pick it up, your hands trembling as the cold metal meets your palms.

“This is my rifle,” you whisper, glancing down at the notepad. You force yourself to write: Picked it up again. Do not drop it. The rifle is mine.

The hum builds as you press forward, the fog thickening with every step. The landmarks you wrote about come into view one by one. The twisted oak, its gnarled branches clawing at the mist. The three jagged rocks, slick with moisture and faintly gleaming. And finally, the ridge with its glowing moss, the faint bioluminescence cutting through the haze.

You reach the ridge, your chest heaving as the hum grows louder. The glow of the Fogcrawler’s core pulses faintly in the distance, a hypnotic rhythm that pulls at your mind. Your grip on the rifle tightens as you drop to one knee, steadying yourself. The notepad feels slippery in your other hand, but you force yourself to flip it open.

Shoot the light from the ridge. Do not go closer.

The words anchor you, their meaning sharp and clear. You raise the rifle, the cold metal steadying your nerves. The Fogcrawler’s glow intensifies as you peer through the sights, the pulsing light filling your vision.

You hesitate, your finger hovering over the trigger. A flicker of doubt creeps in—What if this doesn’t work? What if—

The hum grows louder, drowning out your thoughts. You glance at the notepad again, but the words have begun to blur, the letters twisting into unfamiliar shapes. Your heart pounds as panic grips you, the fog pressing harder against your mind.

SHOOT THE LIGHT FROM THE RIDGE.

The penned words on your arm are still legible, stark and undeniable. You focus on them, forcing the panic back, and pull the trigger.

The rifle’s report shatters the silence, the recoil slamming into your shoulder. The light flares violently, the Fogcrawler screeching as its core flickers and dims. The hum falters, replaced by a distorted, high-pitched wail that rattles through the trees.

You watch as the creature’s bioluminescence fades. The air feels lighter, the oppressive weight lifting slightly. The glow is gone, and the forest is quiet again.

Your grip on the rifle loosens as you sag against the ridge, exhaustion washing over you, but this is no place to rest.

Your legs tremble as you rise, your rifle slung over your shoulder. The thick fog around you begins to dissipate, retreating like a living thing that has lost its purpose. The oppressive hum fades into the silence of the forest, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves and the distant creaks of unseen branches.

You move cautiously, your thoughts murky but clearing with each step. The notepad remains in your hand, the penned reminder on your arm still visible despite the smudges. The landmarks you noted guide you forward, their familiarity anchoring you to the reality of what just happened. Each step is heavier than the last, your body aching as the fog’s weight slowly lifts from your mind.

And then you see her.

Celestia lies crumpled near the base of a massive tree, her radiant form dimmed, her mane tangled and dull. Behind her, the Fogcrawler’s massive body is motionless, its bioluminescent core flickering faintly before extinguishing completely. The sight of the lifeless creature sends a jolt through you—somehow, you did it. You stopped it.

You kneel beside Celestia, your hands trembling as you check her. She’s alive, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths, but her skin feels cold to the touch. The tendrils of fog that once clung to her are gone, leaving only faint scorch marks on her golden armor.

“Celestia,” you murmur, shaking her gently. She doesn’t respond, her eyes closed, her body unnaturally still. Gritting your teeth, you slide your arms under her and lift, the effort nearly causing you to collapse under her weight. She’s heavier than you expected, her unconscious form sagging in your grip, but you force yourself to stand.

As you turn toward the forest’s edge, something tugs at the back of your mind. A memory, faint and flickering, like the remnants of a dream. You pause, the weight of Celestia in your arms grounding you as the thought sharpens.

Twilight.

The name hits you like a punch to the chest. Your breath catches, and you glance around, your heart racing. “Twilight,” you say aloud, the sound of her name stirring a deep unease within you. She was here—wasn’t she? You remember her voice, her determination, her light guiding you through the forest.

But she’s not here now.

Panic claws at your throat as you glance back toward the dead Fogcrawler. The scene feels wrong, incomplete, as if something vital has been taken from you. You search the immediate area, your eyes darting to the shadows and the dense underbrush, but there’s no sign of her.

Your grip tightens on Celestia as the memory of Twilight begins to slip, the edges fraying like so many others in the fog. You shake your head violently, forcing yourself to hold onto it, but the more you focus, the further it retreats.

“No,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. “No, she was here. I know she was.”

The forest offers no answer, its silence pressing against you like a heavy weight. The thought of Twilight—her absence—burns in your chest, but the memory refuses to solidify. You can’t remember when you last saw her, what she said, or even if she was with you when you first met the Fogcrawler.

But the nagging sense of loss remains.

Your legs threaten to give out as you stagger toward the forest’s edge, Celestia’s weight a constant reminder of the here and now. The fog begins to thin, the faint glow of Ponyville’s lanterns visible through the trees. The name echoes in your mind, persistent and haunting.

Twilight.

As you cross the forest’s threshold, stepping into the cool night air, the weight of what you’ve forgotten crashes over you like a wave. You drop to your knees, still holding Celestia’s unconscious form, your chest heaving as the realization sinks in.

She’s still in there.

And you have no idea where to find her.

No Heroes.

The weight of Celestia in your arms grows heavier as you stumble into Ponyville. The cool air bites at your skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating fog you just escaped. The town’s familiar lights should bring relief, but something is wrong. Lanterns burn brighter than usual, casting long, unnatural shadows. The air is tense, almost electric, and you notice figures moving in the streets—dozens of them.

As you draw closer, the shapes sharpen into armored forms. Guards. Everywhere. Their golden and silver armor gleams under the lamplight, their postures rigid, their eyes scanning the night with grim determination. The sight stops you in your tracks.

“Hey!” A voice cuts through the quiet. A pair of guards rush toward you, their horns glowing faintly as they take in the sight of Celestia slumped in your arms. One of them, a tall unicorn stallion, steps forward, his expression a mix of shock and suspicion. “What happened? What did you—”

You shake your head, your voice hoarse. “She’s alive. I found her in the forest. She needs help.”

The unicorn signals to the other guard, who darts off toward a makeshift command post near the town square. “Follow me,” the unicorn orders, his tone brisk. “We’ll take her to the infirmary.”

You move as quickly as your exhausted body allows, the weight of Celestia pressing against you with each step. The guards around you whisper in hushed tones as you pass, their eyes wide with disbelief. You catch fragments of their words: “She’s back…” “Weeks… we thought she was lost.”

Weeks?

The infirmary is a hastily constructed setup in one of Ponyville’s larger buildings. Inside, medical ponies rush to take Celestia from you, carefully lowering her onto a cot. You step back, your chest heaving, as the medics begin their work. One of the guards, a stern-looking pegasus mare, approaches you.

“Where did you find her?” she demands, her voice sharp.

“In the forest,” you say, your voice rasping from exhaustion. “I... I shot something. A creature. It was feeding on her. She was still alive.”

The mare’s expression hardens. “Do you have any idea how long she’s been missing?”

You blink at her, confusion clouding your thoughts. “Missing? It’s been—what, hours? A day?”

The guard’s eyes narrow. “It’s been three weeks.”

The words hit you like a hammer, your mind reeling. “Three... weeks?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” she snaps, her wings flaring slightly. “Three weeks since she and Twilight Sparkle entered that cursed forest. We lost contact with them almost immediately. Search parties went after them—soldiers, some of our best.” Her voice falters, her gaze dropping. “We lost three platoons. After that, we stopped sending ponies in.”

The weight of her words sinks in, a cold dread spreading through your chest. Three weeks? The fog, the disorientation—it had warped your sense of time, stripping away days like they were nothing. But one detail pierces through the haze, sharp and unrelenting.

“Twilight,” you say, your voice firmer now. “Where’s Twilight?”

The guard flinches, her jaw tightening. “She didn’t come back. Nopony has seen her since the day she went in with Celestia.”

The room feels like it’s spinning, the air growing thick. You stumble back, gripping the edge of a nearby table to steady yourself. Twilight. The memory of her name, her voice, her determination—it all comes rushing back. She was there, in the forest. She went with Celestia. And now she’s... gone.

“She’s still in there,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She has to be. I need to—”

“No.” The guard’s voice is like steel, cutting through your panic. “You’re not going back in there. Nopony is. We’ve lost too many already.”

“I can’t just leave her!” you shout, your voice raw with desperation. “She’s alive. I know she is.”

The guard steps closer, her expression hard and unyielding. “Listen to me. You made it out of that forest alive with the princess. That’s more than anypony else has managed. But if you go back in there, you won’t come out again.”

You glare at her, anger and frustration boiling over. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave her in there to die?”

She doesn’t flinch. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

“She is,” you snap, your voice trembling. “I can feel it.”

The room falls silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. The guard doesn’t respond, but her expression softens slightly, a flicker of sympathy breaking through her stoic demeanor.

“You don’t understand,” you say, your voice quieter now. “I saw what’s in there. I saw what it does. If she’s still alive, she won’t be for long. And I... I can’t leave her.”

The guard exhales sharply, her wings folding tightly against her sides. “If you go back in there, you’ll be on your own. We’re not sending anyone after you.”

You nod, the resolve in your chest hardening like steel. “I've never needed anyone but my rifle.”

You leave the makeshift infirmary with your chest tight and your mind racing. The streets of Ponyville are quiet save for the steady patrols of guards, their somber expressions reflecting the weight of what the town has endured. You can feel their eyes on you as you pass, some glancing at the rifle slung over your shoulder, others whispering in hushed tones. You ignore them, your focus locked on one thing: preparation.

If you’re going back into the Everfree, you’ll need to be ready.

Your house, nestled just inside the forest’s edge, looms in your mind. It’s been weeks since you’ve set foot there, but Twilight’s wards should still hold. At least, you hope they do. The thought of the protective barrier she painstakingly set up brings a faint flicker of comfort, though it’s quickly buried under the gnawing worry for her.

The journey to your house is unnervingly short. The forest here feels different—quieter, less oppressive, though the familiar sense of unease lingers at the edges of your thoughts. When your House comes into view, its sturdy frame visible through cleared underbrush, you feel a momentary pang of relief.

The wards are still active. A faint shimmer of magic pulses around the perimeter, a soft, protective hum that keeps the worst of the Everfree at bay. You step through the invisible barrier, feeling a brief tingle as the magic recognizes you, then push open the heavy wooden door.

Inside, everything is as you left it. The modest furnishings, the scattered tools, and the faint smell of wood smoke—it all feels like stepping into another life. One that hasn’t been consumed by the nightmare of the last few weeks.

You set the rifle down on the table and take stock of your supplies. Your clothes are torn and caked with dirt and grime, your jacket barely holding together. You strip down to your undershirt, tossing the ruined garments into a corner. A quick search of the small dresser by your bed yields a clean set of clothes—nothing fancy, but durable and familiar.

As you change, your mind drifts to the rifle. You glance at it, sitting on the table, its barrel smudged with dirt and its action stiff from neglect. You can feel the weight of its importance pressing against your thoughts. If you’re going back into the Everfree, this weapon might be the only thing standing between you and whatever horrors await.

You sit at the table, pulling out the small cleaning kit stashed in one of the drawers. The act of disassembling the rifle feels almost meditative, each piece familiar and grounding. You clean the barrel, wipe down the action, and reassemble it with careful precision. When you finish, the rifle gleams faintly in the dim light, ready for whatever comes next.

Twilight’s wards hum faintly outside, their magic a quiet reminder of her care. You pause, staring at the shimmering line of protection visible through the window. The thought of her—alone, somewhere in the forest—gnaws at you.

“I’m coming for you,” you murmur, the words quiet but resolute.

Your house feels unusually still as you double-check your supplies. The hum of Twilight’s wards is faint but persistent, like a comforting whisper at the edges of your hearing. You’ve done everything you can to prepare: cleaned your rifle, patched your jacket, and packed a small bag with essentials. But the weight of uncertainty presses heavily on your shoulders.

As you strap a hand-crank flashlight to your belt, you can’t help but feel the void left by Twilight’s absence. Her light—steady, calming, always guiding you through the forest’s madness—is gone. You switch the flashlight on briefly, its beam cutting through the dim interior of the cabin. It’s cold and clinical, lacking the warmth of her magic. You click it off with a sigh, saving the battery for later.

The thought of going into the forest alone gnaws at you. Even with the Fogcrawler dead, the Everfree is still teeming with dangers, and wandering its depths solo feels like tempting fate. Your rifle might give you an edge, but instinct tells you it won’t be enough.

Instinct. The word sticks in your mind, turning over like a puzzle piece. When the fog stripped your memories, you operated purely on instinct. Instinct to escape the forest. If Twilight had been caught in the same situation, where would her instincts have taken her?

You sit on the edge of your bed, gripping the rifle tightly as you think. Twilight was methodical, logical—but under pressure, her instincts were always to protect and seek safety. If she was disoriented and desperate, she wouldn’t wander aimlessly. She’d find shelter. Somewhere defensible. Somewhere she could regroup and think.

Your gaze drifts to the forest outside the window, your mind racing through the possibilities. Zecora’s hut? No—it’s too deep, and she would’ve known it wasn’t safe after the Silence. A cave? Unlikely. Twilight hated caves; they felt too confining for her.

Then it hits you. The old ruins.

The Castle of the Two Sisters. It’s secluded, defensible, and—most importantly—it’s a place Twilight knows well. The nagging feeling in your chest sharpens into certainty. If she’s alive, that’s where she would’ve gone.

But getting there alone is still a death sentence.

You stand abruptly, slinging the rifle over your shoulder as you pace the room. You need backup, someone—anyone—to help. The guards won’t go back in. Ponyville’s residents are too afraid. That leaves you with only one option: convince Applejack or one of the others to come with you. They’ll be reluctant, but they might agree if they believe Twilight is alive.

The thought steadies you, giving you a plan, albeit a fragile one. Grabbing your bag, you step outside, the cool night air prickling against your skin. The forest looms ahead, its shadows deep and unyielding, but the wards around your house hold firm.

You glance back at the cabin, its protective barrier a fleeting sanctuary. Then, turning toward Ponyville, you steel yourself for the conversations ahead. Despite what the guard said, If you’re going back into the Everfree, you won’t be doing it alone.

And this time, you’ll bring her home.

The path to Sweet Apple Acres is quiet, the air heavy with the chill of late evening. The faint glow of the farmhouse lights guides your way, and you feel a flicker of hesitation as you approach. It’s been weeks since you saw Applejack or any of the others, and you can only imagine what they’ve endured in your absence.

The farmhouse door creaks open before you even knock, revealing Applejack standing in the doorway. Her hat is tilted low, shadows casting across her face, but her expression is unmistakable—shock, followed quickly by guarded relief.

“Well, I’ll be…” she mutters, stepping forward. “Y-you’re alive?” Her voice cracks slightly, and she quickly clears her throat, trying to regain her composure. “I thought… I thought you were gone. That all of y’all were gone.”

“I made it out,” you say, your voice low. “Celestia’s back. She’s alive, but Twilight…” You trail off, the weight of her absence pressing against you. “Twilight’s still in there.”

Applejack’s jaw tightens, and she looks away for a moment, her hoof pawing at the ground. “It’s been weeks,” she says quietly. “We… we thought you were all gone. I buried y’all in my heart already.”

You nod slowly, the pain of her words echoing in your chest. “I need your help, Applejack. I think I know where Twilight might’ve gone, but I can’t do this alone. The forest…” You glance back toward the Everfree, its dark silhouette looming against the horizon. “It’s too dangerous.”

Applejack’s lips press into a thin line, her green eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. Finally, she nods, her voice resolute. “If there’s even a chance she’s alive, I’m in. But I ain’t goin’ in blind. We need to be smart about this.”

“I agree,” you say. “And we’ll need more than just the two of us.”

“Give me a minute,” she says, turning back into the house. “I’ll round up the others.”

Within the hour, the rest of the group is gathered around the farmhouse kitchen table: Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Rarity, and even Pinkie Pie, whose usual boundless energy seems subdued. The room is thick with tension as you explain what little you remember, ending with your belief that Twilight may have gone to the Castle of the Two Sisters.

Rainbow Dash slams a hoof on the table. “If Twilight’s in there, we’re going. No question.”

“Easy there, Dash,” Applejack says. “We’ve gotta be prepared. That forest’s already taken too much from us.”

Fluttershy’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Do you really think she’s… alive?”

“She is,” you say firmly, meeting each of their gazes. “I don’t know how, but I know she is. And I’m not leaving her in there.”

Rarity nods, her expression steely despite the tension in her voice. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a shakey hooves against the floor draws your attention to the doorway, where Granny Smith stands, her old eyes sharp and determined. “If y’all are fixin’ to go into that cursed forest,” she says, “you’ll be takin’ this with ya.”

Granny hobbles over to a cabinet, pulling out a small wooden box adorned with faded carvings. She sets it on the table and opens it, revealing a handful of small, dark-green pouches tied with twine.

“These here are Apple family ward pouches,” she explains. “Made with a secret mix of herbs, salts, and a few other things I ain’t sharin’. They’ve been keepin’ monsters off our farm for generations.”

Applejack looks at her grandmother, her brows furrowing. “Granny, I thought those were just old tales.”

Granny snorts. “Old tales my hoof. These work. I don’t care what fancy-dancy science or magic says otherwise. You keep one of these close, and it’ll keep them nasties from gettin’ too close to ya.”

She hands each of you a pouch, her gnarled hoof lingering on yours for a moment. “This’ll help, but it ain’t a guarantee. Y’all be careful, ya hear?”

“Thank you,” you say, tucking the pouch into your jacket pocket.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she mutters. “Just bring that poor filly home.”

The group stands at the edge of the Everfree Forest, the oppressive weight of the trees pressing down like a physical force. You take a deep breath, adjusting the strap of your rifle. The others murmur quietly, the tension evident in their tones.

"Listen," you say, your voice cutting through the murmurs. They all turn to face you, their expressions wary. "We’re not going in there to play hero, and we’re not taking unnecessary risks. Twilight’s life is the priority. If you think you’re going to charge in like Celestia did, forget it. That kind of boldness is what got us into this mess in the first place."

Rainbow Dash bristles, her wings flaring slightly. "Hey, I’m not gonna—"

"Then keep it that way," you snap, your tone sharp enough to make her flinch. "This forest isn’t the same as the one you remember. It’s awake now. Every step we take, every noise we make—it’s watching. If you act like an idiot, it won’t just kill you; it’ll kill all of us."

The weight of your words silences the group. Even Pinkie Pie, usually so quick with a joke or quip, nods solemnly. Applejack steps up beside you, her eyes steady. "He’s right. We all gotta stick together and think smart. Ain’t no room for foolin’ around in there."

You nod at her, then turn to the others. "Let’s move."

The journey begins in uneasy silence, the forest swallowing the sound of your footsteps. The Everfree is alive with an unsettling energy, the shadows shifting and writhing just out of sight. Every so often, Fluttershy lets out a soft gasp, her gaze darting to some unseen movement in the underbrush. You glance back to reassure her, but your focus remains on the path ahead.

It’s not long before the sound of rushing water reaches your ears. The river comes into view, its current strong and turbulent. The bridge that once spanned it is gone, likely swept away during some storm or another. The group gathers at the edge, the roaring water drowning out their quiet murmurs.

Rainbow Dash hovers above the group, squinting at the far bank. "I can fly over and tie something down for you guys to cross."

You shake your head. "Too risky. If the forest is watching, it’ll see you alone and vulnerable."

"Then what’s the plan?" Rarity asks, her voice tight with worry.

You glance around, your eyes settling on a fallen tree not far upstream. It’s thick and sturdy, wedged tightly against the riverbank. "We use that," you say, pointing to it. "It’s not ideal, but it’ll hold if we’re careful."

One by one, the group crosses, using the makeshift bridge. You stay at the rear, your rifle ready as you watch for any signs of movement in the trees. The crossing is slow and tense, the roar of the river masking the sound of snapping branches and shifting shadows. When the last of you makes it across, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

"Keep moving," you say, gesturing for the group to continue. "The forest won’t give us much time."

Minutes later, the trees begin to thin, revealing the familiar sight of the chasm leading to the Castle of the Two Sisters. The rope bridge sways gently in the breeze, its weathered planks creaking under the strain. The sight of it makes Rainbow Dash groan. "Not this thing again."

"It’s the only way across," Applejack says firmly, stepping forward. "We’ve done it before, and we can do it again."

You stop her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait. Let me go first."

She hesitates, then nods. You step onto the bridge, testing the weight of the first few planks. The ropes groan, but they hold. The chasm yawns below, a dizzying void that makes your stomach churn. You keep your eyes forward, your grip on the rifle tight, and take slow, deliberate steps.

When you reach the other side, you turn and motion for the others to follow. Rainbow Dash flits across with ease, but the rest of the group moves cautiously, their hooves trembling against the aged wood. Fluttershy lets out a whimper as the bridge sways, and you move to help her when she finally reaches the far side.

"We’re almost there," you say, your voice low but steady. "Stay close, and don’t let your guard down."

The castle looms ahead, its ruins bathed in faint moonlight. The air feels heavier now, charged with the same unnatural energy that’s haunted you since the journey began. You glance at the others, their faces pale but resolute.

With a nod from Applejack, the group steps forward, the castle’s darkened halls beckoning you into the unknown.

The castle’s crumbling facade looms over you, its jagged edges silhouetted against the faint moonlight. The air grows colder as you approach, the oppressive weight of the forest following you even here. The others stick close, their unease palpable in the silence that surrounds you. The faint whisper of wind through broken windows and hollow corridors adds an eerie undertone to the scene.

You lead the way, your rifle at the ready, every muscle tense as you step into the ruins. The castle’s interior is as you remember—dark, labyrinthine, and crumbling with age. But there’s something else here now, a sense of desperation imprinted in the space, as if it bears the weight of someone else’s struggle.

The group fans out cautiously, their hoofsteps echoing faintly against the stone. It’s Rarity who spots it first, her voice sharp and clear in the silence. “What’s that?”

She points toward a shadowed corner near a collapsed column. You step closer, your flashlight cutting through the gloom to reveal a set of saddlebags. They’re scuffed and dirty, the fabric torn in places, but unmistakably Twilight’s. The sight of them sends a jolt through your chest.

“Twilight,” you murmur, kneeling to inspect the bags.

As you carefully open one, a cascade of papers spills out. Notes, hastily scribbled and barely legible, cover every scrap of parchment. You shine your flashlight on the pages, scanning the frantic handwriting. The notes are fragmented, a desperate attempt to make sense of her situation.

“Don’t forget. Celestia. Must find her. Must get back to Ponyville.”

“The forest is wrong. Can’t trust what I see.”

“Castle. The wards. Something there. Safety?”

“Light—always light. Don’t let it go out.”

You sift through more pages, your throat tightening as you piece together the story. Twilight had been trying to fight the same fog that had taken your memories. She’d left herself breadcrumbs, notes meant to anchor her, to remind her of her purpose.

“She was trying to remember,” you say, your voice rough. “Trying to get back to Celestia. But she must’ve gotten turned around.”

Applejack steps closer, her expression grim as she looks at the notes. “She was alone. Weeks in that cursed forest, fightin’ just to hold onto herself…”

Rainbow Dash hovers above the group, her wings beating softly. “If she was heading here, why didn’t we find her already?”

“Something stopped her,” you say, standing and looking deeper into the shadowed halls. “Or... something’s keeping her from leaving.”

Fluttershy shivers, clutching her ward pouch tightly. “Do you think she’s still... here? In the castle?”

“Maybe,” you say. “She mentioned the wards in her notes. If she thought this place was safe, she might’ve stayed—or she could’ve been trying to activate something.”

The group stands in heavy silence, the faint wind whispering through the broken windows of the castle. The weight of Twilight’s saddlebags in your hands feels like an anchor, tethering you to her struggle. The notes, scrawled in desperation, tell a story of survival and resilience—but they also hint at something darker, a force that kept her trapped and disoriented.

You adjust the rifle on your shoulder, the metal cool against your skin. “We keep moving,” you say, your voice firm but quiet. “If she came here looking for safety, there’s a chance she’s still close. But this place is huge, and we’re not splitting up.”

Applejack nods, her green eyes steady. “Together’s the only way we get through this.”

The others murmur their agreement, even Rainbow Dash swallowing her usual bravado. You lead the way deeper into the castle, the flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. The corridors feel endless, twisting and turning as if the castle itself is trying to confuse you. The faint creak of crumbling stone under your boots and the occasional scuff of a hoof are the only sounds.

The path eventually opens into a vast, crumbling chamber. Moonlight filters through the shattered remains of stained-glass windows, casting fractured rainbows on the floor. The throne room. You step inside cautiously, the others fanning out behind you.

Fluttershy gasps softly, pointing toward the far corner of the room. There, etched into the stone floor, are faint glowing lines—runes, their soft blue light pulsing faintly. Twilight’s magic. The sight sends a jolt through your chest.

“She was here,” Rarity breathes, stepping closer to inspect the markings. “These runes—they’re protection spells, I think. She must have been trying to ward the room.”

You kneel beside the runes, tracing the faint lines with your fingers. They feel cold, almost brittle, as if the magic is fading. “It’s like the wards on my house,” you say. “She was trying to create a safe zone.”

“But why didn’t it work?” Rainbow Dash asks, her wings twitching with unease.

“Maybe it did,” you say, scanning the room. “But it wasn’t enough.”

As you stand, your flashlight catches something near one of the thrones—a faint glimmer of fabric. You move closer, your breath hitching as you realize what it is: Twilight’s cloak, draped over the armrest. It’s tattered and stained, but it’s unmistakably hers.

“She left this,” you say, holding it up. “She had to be here recently.”

“Then where is she now?” Applejack asks, her voice tight with worry.

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing. If Twilight had been here, she must have been forced to move. But why? The castle, with its wards and defensible positions, should have been her sanctuary.

“The notes,” you say suddenly, pulling one of the crumpled pages from her saddlebags. You scan the frantic writing, looking for any mention of the throne room. One line stands out, scrawled in uneven letters:

“The wards hold, but it’s not enough. I hear them in the halls. The light keeps them back. I have to find the source.”

You hold up the note, your heart sinking. “She left. She went looking for something—something she thought could help.”

“What source?” Rarity asks, her voice trembling. “What could possibly help in this cursed place?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, she thought it was worth the risk.”

“Then we follow her,” Applejack says, her voice resolute. “She left us a trail, and we’re gonna see it through.”

You nod, gripping the rifle tightly. “Stay close. If she’s still alive, we’ll find her.”

The trail leads you out of the throne room and into the lower halls, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The runes are sporadic now, faint glowing marks on the walls that seem to guide the way. Twilight’s determination is etched into every corner, her desperate attempt to stay grounded in a place designed to unmoor her.

The halls are narrower here, the walls closing in as the group moves in tense silence. The faint sound of dripping water echoes through the space, each drop a reminder of the castle’s slow decay.

Then, you hear it.

A faint sound, almost imperceptible—a whisper, drifting through the halls like a ghost. You raise a hand, signaling the group to stop. The whisper grows louder, not words but a soft, rhythmic hum that seems to vibrate in your chest.

“Do you hear that?” Fluttershy whispers, her voice trembling.

You nod, your grip tightening on the rifle. “Stay together. Don’t let the sound draw you away.”

As you move closer, the hum becomes more distinct, resonating through the stone walls. The air grows colder, and the runes on the walls flicker, their light struggling to hold.

“Whatever this is,” Rarity says quietly, “I don’t think we’re alone anymore.”

The whisper turns into a low, guttural sound, and the shadows in the hallway seem to shift. You raise the flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness, but nothing moves. The group presses closer together, their fear palpable.

“We’re close,” you say, your voice low. “She wouldn’t have come this way unless she thought it was important.”

The sound grows louder, and your flashlight catches another rune, this one brighter than the rest. It’s etched into the floor at the base of a heavy stone door, its blue light pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

“She went in there,” Applejack says, her voice tight.

You step forward, your heart pounding. The door looms before you, its surface marked with deep scratches and strange symbols. Whatever lies beyond it, you know Twilight believed it held the key to her survival—and now, yours.

“Ready?” you ask, glancing back at the group.

They nod, their faces pale but determined. With a deep breath, you push the door open, the cold air rushing past you as the darkness beyond beckons.

The heavy stone door groans as it swings open, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond. Your flashlight cuts through the inky darkness, the beam illuminating faint traces of movement on the walls—shadows that shift unnaturally, as though alive. The group clusters tightly behind you, their breaths shallow and tense.

The air is colder here, biting and oppressive, and the faint hum from before seems to seep into your bones. The faint glow of Twilight’s runes lingers on the edges of the floor and walls, but they flicker weakly, their magic barely holding against whatever lies deeper inside.

“She came this way,” you say, your voice low, gesturing toward faint hoofprints in the dust. They lead deeper into the chamber, weaving between jagged stone columns and debris.

Applejack leans closer to the prints, her expression grim. “Still fresh, too. She can’t be far.”

“Then why does it feel like something’s watching us?” Rainbow Dash mutters, her wings twitching.

You glance at the shadows, your hand tightening around the rifle. The air feels heavy, alive with an unnatural energy. “Because something is watching us,” you say quietly. “Stay close, and don’t let your light go out.”

The group moves cautiously, the flashlight beam sweeping over the chamber. The hoofprints lead to a collapsed stone pillar, where scraps of parchment lie scattered across the ground. You kneel, carefully picking up one of the fragments. The writing is frantic, barely legible.

“The light doesn’t last. They’re coming faster now. I have to keep moving.”

“Voidstalkers. The name fits. They hunt the light.”

“If I stop, they’ll find me. The wards aren’t enough—they’re never enough.”

Your chest tightens as you read, the desperation in her words cutting through the cold. You hand the parchment to Rarity, who scans it with wide eyes.

“She was running,” Rarity says, her voice trembling. “Fighting to stay ahead of them.”

“Then we’d better pick up the pace,” Rainbow Dash says, her voice sharper than usual. “If those things are still here—”

A sudden, faint sound cuts her off: a whispering hiss, like liquid sliding across stone. You freeze, raising a hand to silence the group. The sound grows louder, closer, accompanied by a dimming of the flashlight’s beam. The shadows around you deepen unnaturally, their edges rippling like water.

“They’re here,” you say, your voice a harsh whisper. “Stay together. Lights out, and we’re dead.”

The first one emerges from a crack in the far wall, its form a mass of liquid shadow that shifts and flows like living ink. No eyes, no discernible features—just a void-like presence that seems to devour the light around it. The flashlight flickers, its beam dimming further as the creature glides silently across the floor.

“Move!” you hiss, ushering the group toward the far end of the chamber.

More Voidstalkers seep from the walls and floor, their movements fluid and predatory. The faint glow of Twilight’s runes flickers and dies as one of the creatures slithers over it, extinguishing the light with ease.

“Light drives them back!” Rarity shouts, her horn sparking to life. A burst of magic illuminates the space, the bright glow forcing the nearest Voidstalker to recoil, its edges sizzling before it retreats into the shadows.

“It doesn’t kill them!” you shout. “Just buys time—keep moving!”

The group presses forward, Rarity and Fluttershy holding small magical lights that flicker under the oppressive weight of the darkness. The Voidstalkers follow, their movements slow but relentless, closing the gap each time the light falters.

You reach another passage, the faint outline of more hoofprints visible in the dust. “She went this way!” Applejack calls, her voice strained.

The group stumbles through, the Voidstalkers pooling at the edges of the light, testing its strength. Your flashlight flickers again, and you slam it against your palm, the beam sputtering back to life just in time to drive one of the creatures back.

“Don’t stop!” you shout, leading them through a narrow corridor. “If we lose the light, we’re done!”

At the end of the corridor, the passage opens into a smaller chamber. Twilight’s magic flares here, the runes stronger and more numerous, their light forming a barrier that the Voidstalkers hesitate to cross. The creatures hover at the edges, their liquid forms rippling with frustration.

You glance around the room, your flashlight sweeping over the space. In the center lies a small pile of supplies—a canteen, a blanket, and more notes. You kneel, picking up one of the pages. The writing is jagged and uneven, as if she’d been in a hurry.

“The castle wards hold here. Temporary refuge. But they’ll find a way through.”

“I have to reach the source. It’s the only way to stop them.”

“If you find this—don’t stop. Follow the light.”

“She’s still running,” you say, your voice tight. “She’s looking for something—a source of power. Something to stop these things.”

“But where is she now?” Applejack asks, her voice trembling.

The question lingers, heavy in the air. The Voidstalkers shift restlessly at the edges of the runes, their presence a constant reminder of the danger. Twilight’s trail is here, but she’s not.

“She’s still ahead of us,” you say, standing and gripping the rifle tightly. “And we’re going to catch up. Whatever she’s looking for, we’ll find her before they do.”

The group nods, their fear tempered by determination. As the runes begin to flicker under the Voidstalkers’ pressure, you step toward the next passage, the flashlight beam cutting through the encroaching dark.

The hunt continues.

The chamber deepens into a vast, circular space, the air thick with the hum of old magic. The walls are lined with intricate carvings, faintly glowing glyphs pulsing in time with the low vibration that fills the air. At the center of the room, a massive crystal sits embedded in the floor, its surface cracked but still radiating a soft, steady light. The chamber feels alive, the ancient energy coursing through it creating an almost suffocating pressure.

And there, slumped against the base of the crystal, is Twilight.

Her lavender coat is dull and matted, her mane tangled and frayed. Her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, her frame thin and gaunt from weeks of starvation and exhaustion. Around her, faint arcs of magic flicker from the crystal, feeding into glowing orbs of light suspended above her head. The light keeps the room illuminated, a fragile sanctuary in the heart of the castle.

“Twilight!” Applejack calls, rushing forward.

“Wait!” you snap, stopping her with a raised hand. Your eyes dart around the chamber, searching for any signs of movement. The Voidstalkers’ presence lingers faintly in the air, but the light seems to be holding them at bay.

You step closer, your rifle ready, the flashlight casting a harsh beam across the room. When you’re certain the space is clear, you kneel beside Twilight, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused and bloodshot, but she manages to look up at you.

“You… came,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I… I tried… but they…” Her head lolls forward, her strength failing.

“Shh, don’t talk,” you say, your voice softer now. “We’ve got you.”

Rarity steps forward, her horn glowing as she surveys the glowing runes around the chamber. “She’s been using the crystal to power her light,” Rarity says, awe and concern mingling in her voice. “It’s brilliant, but it must have taken everything she had to sustain it.”

“She needs food,” Fluttershy says quietly, setting down her small pack of supplies. “And rest.”

Twilight shakes her head weakly, her eyes fluttering open again. “The wards… if they go out…”

“I’ll take care of them,” Rarity says firmly, stepping closer to the crystal. “You’ve done enough, darling. Let me handle it.”

Twilight hesitates, her gaze flickering between Rarity and the glowing orbs of light above. “It’s… fragile. If it falters, they’ll come.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” Rarity says, her voice steady. “Trust me.”

After a moment, Twilight nods weakly, her head resting against the crystal. Rarity takes her place near the base of the structure, her magic flaring as she stabilizes the wards. The glow of the orbs steadies, their light growing brighter under her careful guidance.

Fluttershy kneels beside Twilight, offering her a canteen of water and a small bundle of dried fruit. “Here, eat slowly,” she says gently. Twilight takes the canteen with trembling hooves, drinking in small sips before nibbling at the fruit.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Rainbow Dash asks, her wings twitching with nervous energy.

“She will be,” you say, standing and turning to face the group. “But we need to let her rest. Rarity’s holding the wards, and this chamber seems secure for now. We’ll keep watch.”

Applejack nods, her expression resolute. “If them Voidstalkers show their faces, they’ll regret it.”

The group settles into a tense but quiet vigil, the chamber’s glow providing a fragile sense of security. Twilight drifts into an uneasy sleep, her breathing shallow but steady. Rarity maintains the wards, her magic unwavering as the light continues to hold the darkness at bay.

You lean against the wall, your rifle resting across your lap as you scan the room. The hum of the crystal fills the air, a constant reminder of the ancient power sustaining this sanctuary. For now, you’ve found her. She’s alive.

But the forest is still waiting. And you know it won’t let you leave so easily.

The chamber remains tense and quiet, the glowing crystal pulsing faintly as Rarity channels her magic into maintaining the wards. Her usual grace has given way to visible strain, beads of sweat forming on her brow as she fights to stabilize the flickering orbs above.

“You okay, Rarity?” Applejack asks, her voice edged with concern.

Rarity nods tightly, her horn glowing brighter. “It’s… a challenge,” she admits, her voice strained. “This source is ancient, far more complex than anything I’ve worked with before. But I can manage—for now.”

You step closer, your flashlight cutting through the dim light as you examine the crystal. Its jagged surface radiates a quiet hum of power, the energy coursing through it almost palpable. The runes etched into the surrounding stone seem to anchor the magic, directing it into the floating orbs.

But the strain on Rarity is undeniable, and a nagging thought tugs at the edge of your mind.

“What if we could move it?” you ask aloud, your voice breaking the silence.

The others turn to you, their expressions a mix of confusion and curiosity.

“Move it?” Rainbow Dash echoes, hovering above the group. “You mean, like… take it with us?”

You nod, gesturing to the crystal. “If we can detach it from whatever it’s connected to, we could use it to keep the light with us. The Voidstalkers hunt darkness. This thing powers the light.”

Rarity’s magic falters for a moment, and she looks up at you, her expression wary. “That’s… an ambitious idea, darling. But something this old, this… integrated—it might not take kindly to being removed.”

Twilight stirs, her voice weak but insistent. “He… might be right,” she whispers, her eyes barely opening. “The source… it’s powerful, but… it’s tied here. If we sever it… carefully… it might work.”

“Carefully,” Applejack repeats, her tone skeptical. “We’re talkin’ about somethin’ older than all of us. How do we know it won’t blow up in our faces?”

You kneel beside the crystal, examining its base where it connects to the floor. The glyphs surrounding it pulse faintly, their energy cycling through the runes and into the orbs above. “Twilight,” you say, glancing back at her. “How’s it connected? Can it survive if we cut it free?”

Twilight’s eyes flutter shut again, her exhaustion weighing heavily on her. “The runes… they instruct it. If… if you sever them… carefully… it might recalibrate.”

“Might,” Rainbow Dash mutters. “Not exactly comforting.”

“Better than leaving it here,” you say firmly. “If we try to take her out of this castle without the light, we won’t make it.”

Fluttershy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Do we have any other choice?”

The group falls silent, the weight of her question pressing on everyone. Rarity exhales shakily, her magic flickering again as the strain begins to show. “If we’re going to do this,” she says, her voice steady despite her exhaustion, “we need to act quickly. I can’t hold this much longer.”

You nod, turning to Twilight. “What’s the best way to cut it free?”

Twilight’s head tilts weakly, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet yours. Her voice is faint, but you can hear the urgency behind it. “Start with… the outermost runes. The ones cycling the power into the orbs. If you sever them carefully… it should stabilize. The crystal… it’ll recalibrate itself.”

“Carefully,” Applejack mutters under her breath. “Got it.”

You glance at Rarity, her magic flickering faintly as she struggles to maintain the wards. “Can you handle this while we work?” you ask.

Rarity exhales sharply but nods. “I’ll manage,” she says, her voice strained but resolute. “But hurry. I can’t keep this up forever.”

You kneel beside the crystal, your flashlight steady in one hand as you examine the runes encircling its base. They pulse faintly, the energy coursing through them almost tangible. You point to the first outer rune, its glow dim compared to the others.

“Start here,” you say, gesturing to Applejack. “Break the connection gently—just enough to stop the flow of power, not destroy it.”

Applejack steps forward, her strong hooves surprisingly delicate as she scrapes at the rune with the edge of her horseshoe. The glowing lines dim, then fade entirely, the light recalibrating to the remaining runes.

“That’s one,” Applejack says, her voice tight. “What next?”

You guide Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy to two other outermost runes, explaining the process as quickly as you can. Dash works swiftly, though her nervous energy is evident in the flick of her tail, while Fluttershy approaches the task with a surprising steadiness.

One by one, the outer runes fade, their power redirected into the crystal’s core. The light above wavers for a moment, then brightens, the orbs pulsing steadily as the system adjusts.

“Halfway there,” you say, your voice tense. “Keep going.”

As the final outer rune is severed, the crystal hums loudly, its glow intensifying. The orbs above flicker wildly before stabilizing, their light brighter and steadier than before. The runes etched into the floor begin to fade, their power no longer needed to anchor the crystal.

“It’s working,” Rarity says, relief evident in her voice.

The crystal’s glow surges, the hum deepening into a low, resonant vibration that fills the chamber. The runes etched into the floor sputter and fade, their energy dissipating into nothingness. The light steadies, but the room feels different now—less stable, less secure.

“It’s working,” Rarity repeats, though her voice wavers. She steps back, her horn’s glow flickering as she steadies herself. The strain in her voice is not just exhaustion; it’s unease.

But there’s no time to dwell on it. The crystal hums again, louder, as if adjusting to the absence of its tethers. The light remains steady, but the air grows heavier, oppressive.

And then, in the distance, a sound.

It starts low, a faint rumble that resonates through the floor. You freeze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The others exchange nervous glances as the rumble grows, a rhythmic, thunderous pounding that grows louder with every passing second.

“What… what is that?” Fluttershy whispers, her voice trembling.

The sound intensifies, and you realize with a cold clarity that it’s not just the castle settling. It’s movement—something massive, something alive.

Applejack’s voice cuts through the rising dread. “We didn’t just wake somethin’ up, did we?”

Your chest tightens as you glance at the now-detached crystal, its glow steady but its hum no longer restrained. The realization hits you like a blow: the runes weren’t just stabilizing the crystal’s energy—they were doing something else. Something far more important.

“They weren’t just powering the wards,” you say, your voice grim. “They were holding something back.”

As if in response, the pounding intensifies, shaking the walls. Dust and loose debris fall from the ceiling, the vibrations growing stronger with every passing second. A guttural, chittering roar echoes through the halls, its sheer volume enough to send shivers down your spine.

Twilight stirs weakly on Applejack’s back, her voice barely a whisper. “… it’s awake.”

Before anyone can react, the far wall of the chamber collapses in a deafening crash. Through the cloud of dust and rubble, an enormous shape emerges—a monstrous, centipede-like creature, its segmented body armored with black, glistening plates. Its glowing mandibles drip with a corrosive venom that hisses and smokes as it touches the ground. The creature’s many legs strike the stone floor like thunder, each step shaking the ground as it barrels forward.

The Crawler lets out a keening roar, its glowing mandibles snapping as it scans the room. Its many eyes glimmer in the light of the crystal, which seems to agitate it further. The creature surges forward, its movements impossibly fast for something so massive.

“Move!” you shout, hoisting the crystal in its sling. “Rarity, keep it steady!”

Rarity nods, her horn flaring as she grabs hold of the crystal with her magic. The glow intensifies as she lifts it, hovering it above the ground as the group scrambles to evade the Crawler’s charge.

“Over here!” you bellow, firing your rifle into the air to draw its attention. The Crawler snaps its mandibles in your direction, its glowing eyes locking onto you. It barrels toward you, its legs striking the ground like hammer blows.

“Are you insane?!” Rainbow Dash shouts, darting out of the way.

“Keep it moving!” you yell back, sprinting toward the nearest corridor. “It wants the crystal—don’t let it get close!”

Rarity hovers the crystal ahead of her, sweat pouring down her face as she struggles to maintain control. The Voidstalkers, previously lurking at the edges of the crystal’s light, now press closer, their liquid forms snapping at the heels of the group. They seem emboldened, their movements erratic and aggressive.

Applejack bucks a Voidstalker away as it lunges too close. “They’re gettin’ braver!”

“They can sense the crystal’s weakened!” Rarity shouts, her voice strained. “I’m doing my best, but it’s fighting me!”

“Keep it steady!” you call out, firing another shot to keep the Crawler’s attention on you. The massive creature charges after you, its mandibles snapping inches from your back as you duck into a side passage.

The group presses forward, the light of the crystal barely holding the Voidstalkers at bay. The Crawler’s roars echo through the halls, its relentless pursuit shaking the walls and sending debris raining down.

“Which way?!” Rainbow Dash shouts, her voice panicked.

“Follow the runes!” Twilight murmurs weakly, her voice barely audible. “They… they’ll guide you out.”

You glance at the flickering remnants of the runes, their faint glow leading toward a distant corridor. “This way!” you shout, motioning for the group to follow.

Rarity struggles to keep the crystal aloft, her magic faltering under the strain. “I can’t hold it much longer!” she cries, her voice breaking.

“Just a little further!” you yell, firing another shot at the Crawler as it rounds the corner. The creature screeches, its glowing mandibles snapping wildly as it charges after the group.

The corridor narrows ahead, forcing the Crawler to slow. You seize the opportunity, ducking behind a fallen pillar and reloading your rifle with trembling hands.

“Go!” you shout at the others. “I’ll hold it off—just get the crystal out of here!”

Applejack hesitates, her eyes wide with fear. “You’ll get yourself killed!”

“Not if you move faster!” you snap, firing another shot to draw the Crawler’s attention. The creature roars, its many legs surging forward as it barrels toward you.

As the group disappears down the corridor, the light of the crystal grows fainter, and the shadows press closer. You grip the rifle tightly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you prepare for the fight of your life.

The Crawler's thunderous movements fill the corridor, each step shaking the ground and sending debris cascading from the walls. Its many eyes glint like dying embers in the flickering light of your flashlight. You hold your rifle tightly, the cold metal grounding you, while your other hand grips the flashlight adorned with runes. The faint magical glow pulses like a heartbeat, casting just enough light to keep the Voidstalkers at bay as they swirl in the shadows beyond its reach.

The air is suffocating, thick with dust and the acrid stench of the Crawler’s venom. The creature barrels toward you, its massive mandibles snapping hungrily. You raise your rifle, aiming for one of its glowing mandibles, and pull the trigger. The shot rings out, deafening in the enclosed space.

The bullet strikes true, ricocheting off its armored plating with a sharp crack. The Crawler lets out a screeching roar, the impact enough to divert its path slightly but not stop it. The distraction buys you a moment, and you dart to the side, keeping the flashlight angled toward the walls where the Voidstalkers slither and swirl, their liquid forms testing the edges of the light.

“Come on, you ugly bastard,” you mutter, chambering another round. “Come and get me.”

The Crawler lunges, its many legs pounding the ground as it surges forward. You fire again, this time aiming for one of its smaller, less-armored joints. The bullet strikes flesh, and the creature recoils, letting out another guttural screech. It doesn’t stop, but the momentary hesitation gives you just enough time to dart toward a narrow side passage.

You shine the flashlight back toward the main corridor, the rune-etched beam illuminating the shifting mass of Voidstalkers. They retreat slightly, their forms quivering in the light, but they don’t vanish. They’re waiting, their predatory patience unnerving.

The Crawler barrels past the side passage, momentarily losing sight of you. Its massive body crushes debris underfoot, the venom from its mandibles sizzling as it drips onto the stone floor. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and aim your flashlight at the creature’s rear. The rune-etched light catches its attention, the glow reflecting off its armored plates.

The creature turns, its many eyes locking onto you. You fire another shot, the crack of the rifle echoing through the corridor. The bullet grazes its flank, earning another enraged roar. It charges toward you again, its massive legs striking the ground like thunder.

You retreat further into the passage, keeping the flashlight angled toward the Voidstalkers as they slither closer, their liquid forms testing the edges of the light’s reach. One of them snaps forward, its shadowy tendrils brushing against the barrier of light. You jerk the flashlight toward it, the runes flaring briefly as the creature retreats with a wet hiss.

The Crawler’s mandibles scrape against the walls of the narrow passage as it tries to force its way through. You fire another shot, aiming for its exposed joints, but the creature barely flinches. Its massive form begins to push through the confined space, its sheer size making the walls groan under the strain.

“Not good,” you mutter, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You glance back down the passage, the faint glow of the crystal far ahead as the others continue their retreat. You’re running out of room—and time.

You raise the flashlight higher, angling it to illuminate both the Crawler and the Voidstalkers encroaching from the edges. The light keeps the latter at bay, their forms rippling in frustration, but the Crawler isn’t deterred. It lunges again, its mandibles snapping dangerously close to your position.

With no other option, you drop low, sliding beneath a fallen pillar as the creature’s massive body crashes into the passage above you. The impact shakes the ground, sending dust and debris raining down. You scramble to your feet, your flashlight still in hand, and fire another shot, this time aiming for one of its glowing mandibles.

The bullet strikes, shattering one of the glowing appendages. The Crawler rears back, its roar deafening as venom sprays from the broken mandible. The acidic liquid hisses against the stone, the sharp smell burning your nostrils.

Using the distraction, you dart back toward the main corridor, angling the flashlight to keep the Voidstalkers at bay as you move. The Crawler, momentarily disoriented, thrashes behind you, its massive form struggling to turn in the confined space.

As you round the corner, you spot the faint glow of the crystal ahead, hovering steadily as Rarity guides it with her magic. The others are waiting at the end of the passage, their faces pale but determined.

“Move!” you shout, your voice echoing through the corridor. “It’s coming!”

The group scrambles forward, Rarity’s magic flickering as she struggles to keep the crystal steady. The Voidstalkers press closer, their forms rippling just outside the reach of the light. You fire one last shot into the darkness, the sound reverberating like a challenge.

The Crawler roars again, its massive body finally freeing itself from the narrow passage. It barrels after you, its glowing mandibles snapping hungrily as it closes the distance.

The Crawler's glowing mandibles strike with impossible speed, the massive creature overtaking you in a single, brutal lunge. Its jaws close around you before you can react, the light from your flashlight snuffed out as the creature's body folds around you in suffocating darkness.

Pain explodes through your ribs as you're hurled into the maw, the world turning to chaos and shadow. The sounds of the forest, the shouts of your companions, even your own panicked breaths are swallowed in the roaring abyss.

For a moment, there is nothing.

And then everything comes rushing back—your life, flashing in vivid, disjointed fragments.

You see your childhood, running barefoot through summer grass, the warmth of the sun on your skin. A laugh you can’t quite place echoes in your ears, and you feel the ghost of a hand brushing your hair. The memory shifts—days spent working, struggling, building a life that always seemed just out of reach.

You remember the house. The endless nights spent worrying, the sacrifices, the slow grind of paying it off. It was yours—your sanctuary, your fortress against the world. You remember holding that final receipt in trembling hands, a mix of triumph and exhaustion washing over you. That house, your hard-won prize, became a symbol of everything you endured, of everything you protected.

Even when the monsters came. Even when it turned from a home into a battleground, you couldn’t let it go. Not after all you’d poured into it, after all it had cost you. It wasn’t just a house. It was your fight, your proof that you could carve out a corner of the world and make it your own.

The forest looms again, twisting its way into the memories. Zecora’s face, calm and wise, before she was taken. The creatures—horrors beyond imagination—chasing you, consuming everything they touched. Twilight’s determination, her faith in you, and her fragility in that moment when she collapsed against the crystal. The desperate race to keep her alive.

The memory freezes on her face, pale and exhausted but resolute, her trust in you burning brighter than any light. You hold onto that, even as the darkness creeps closer.

Even Your Hope Is Consumed.

The world around you is suffocating heat and unrelenting pressure, the air heavy with the acrid stench of decay and acid. You’re inside the Crawler, your body aching from the crushing force of its jaws and the acidic fluids seeping through its innards.

It should be impossible to think, to act, to survive here, but something keeps you moving. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s the thought of Twilight, of the others who are counting on you. Or maybe it’s sheer, stubborn refusal to die.

The flashlight still works. Its runes glow faintly, casting an eerie light on your surroundings. You lift it, taking in the horrific scene: the interior of the Crawler is a cavernous space, its walls lined with pulsating, organic tissue that glistens like raw meat. Thick, viscous fluids drip from the ceiling, pooling on the uneven floor. The smell makes your stomach churn, but you force yourself to focus.

The remains of everything the Crawler has consumed litter the space—ancient ruins, crumbling statues, shattered weapons. Some of the structures appear disturbingly intact, like entire buildings were swallowed whole. You see fractured columns, rusted iron gates, and piles of bones. The air is thick and damp, heavy with a sense of time lost and lives extinguished.

You move cautiously, stepping over debris and trying not to think too hard about the soft, wet ground beneath your boots. The flashlight’s beam cuts through the dimness, revealing more of the grotesque interior. You keep your rifle slung over your shoulder, ready to fire at anything that moves, but the sheer weight of the environment makes every step feel like a battle.

As you press forward, your light catches something unusual. Among the twisted wreckage of stone and bone, there’s a body—human, or what’s left of one. The skeletal remains are encased in what looks like ancient armor, the metal corroded but still vaguely recognizable. In the figure’s bony hand is a dagger.

It’s pristine.

The ornate blade gleams in the flashlight’s glow, completely untouched by the decay and corrosion that surrounds it. The hilt is encrusted with jewels, and the metal shimmers with an unnatural sheen. The corpse’s fingers are locked around it in a death grip, as if the weapon was the last thing they clung to before the end.

You crouch beside the body, studying the dagger warily. The way it’s untouched by the corrosive environment is unsettling, but something about it draws you in. The craftsmanship is unlike anything you’ve ever seen—too perfect, too deliberate, as if it were made for a purpose far beyond ordinary use.

You hesitate, your hand hovering over the dagger. There’s a weight in the air, an almost imperceptible hum that seems to emanate from the weapon itself. It feels as though the dagger is watching you, waiting.

Finally, you reach out, prying the corpse’s fingers from the hilt one by one. The bones crumble to dust under your touch, disintegrating as if they’ve been waiting centuries for this moment. When you lift the dagger, a strange warmth spreads through your hand, almost like the weapon is alive.

The hum grows louder, vibrating faintly in your palm. It’s unsettling, but the dagger feels solid, reliable—a tool that might just help you survive. You slide it into your belt, the weight of it strangely comforting.

The oppressive air grows heavier as you stand, the dagger now tucked securely in your belt. The hum that seemed to emanate from it fades slightly but never fully disappears. The flashlight casts long, jagged shadows across the wet and broken ruins around you. You push forward, rifle at the ready, each step a battle against the mire of the Crawler’s innards.

The air shifts.

It’s subtle at first, a faint rustling that seems out of place amidst the low groans of the Crawler’s living walls. You stop, your flashlight sweeping over the area. The beam catches on a pile of bones—no, several piles. Some pony, others bipedal, all ancient, and disturbingly intact despite the environment.

Then they move.

The first skeleton shifts, its bony hooves twitching as if life has returned to them. Another follows, its hollow eye sockets fixing on you with a lifeless hunger. Before you can react, dozens more stir, the ground itself coming alive as skeletal remains rise from the muck. Their armor clatters, rusted weapons rattling as they pull themselves free of the debris.

“Shit,” you breathe, stepping back instinctively, the rifle rising to your shoulder.

The nearest skeleton lunges, a rusted sword swinging toward your chest. You fire. The shot echoes like thunder, the bullet shattering the skull and sending the bones collapsing into a heap. But there’s no time to celebrate—the others are moving, their clattering footsteps surrounding you.

You chamber another round, the bolt action smooth but slower than your panicked breathing demands. You fire again, this time taking down two skeletons as the bullet tears through their brittle torsos. The beam of your flashlight catches more of them—too many. They pour from the ruins like a swarm, their numbers endless.

The Crawler’s roar echoes, a grim reminder that you’re still inside its living prison.

“Not good,” you mutter, your voice tight. You move backward, firing again. Another skeleton collapses, its ancient armor crumbling, but the horde presses closer.

You glance at your belt, the dagger still humming faintly against your hip. But something about it makes you hesitate. It doesn’t feel right—not yet. You don’t know why, but using it now feels… premature. Instead, you focus on the rifle, the familiar weight in your hands grounding you as the chaos builds.

The flashlight flickers, the rune-etched beam sputtering for a moment before flaring back to life. The skeletons hesitate briefly, their empty sockets staring at the light, but the reprieve is fleeting. They lunge again, their weapons raised, their movements jerky but relentless.

You’re running out of bullets.

Each shot buys you a moment, but it’s not enough. You can’t take them all down, not with a rifle that loads one round at a time. Your breathing quickens as you retreat, the wet, uneven ground threatening to trip you with every step.

Your back hits something solid—a crumbled wall or a massive piece of debris, you’re not sure. There’s nowhere left to run. The horde closes in, skeletal hands reaching, their weapons glinting faintly in the flashlight’s unsteady beam.

You grit your teeth, slamming another round into the rifle. The skeleton closest to you explodes into shards of bone, but three more take its place. You’re running on instinct now, the motions automatic but slower with every passing second. Your fingers tremble as you reload again, the bolt catching briefly before sliding home.

This can’t be it. The thought cuts through your mind like a knife, sharp and bitter. You fire again, the shot tearing through another skeleton, but it feels meaningless against the endless tide.

Desperation claws at your chest. The flashlight flickers again, both lights dimming as if the runes themselves are straining under the weight of the Crawler’s oppressive presence. The skeletons surge forward, their hollow jaws gaping as they close in.

You’re out of time. Out of space. Out of options.

The dagger hums again at your side, louder this time, almost insistent. But your fingers tighten on the rifle, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as the horde swarms around you. The air is thick with the smell of rot and decay, the sound of clattering bones deafening.

This isn’t a fight you can win—not like this. And yet, you don’t stop. You keep firing, keep fighting, because stopping means dying. And you’re not ready to die. Not yet. Not here. Not like this.

The skeletons close in, their bony fingers grasping, their rusted weapons swinging in clumsy arcs. You don’t have time to reload. The rifle, now useless as a firearm, becomes a bludgeon in your hands. You swing it hard, the stock connecting with a skeleton’s skull and sending the brittle bones flying. Another lunges at you, and you bring the weapon down in a crushing arc, shattering its ribcage.

The chaos around you is overwhelming, the clatter of bones and the suffocating sense of being outnumbered drowning out coherent thought. Your flashlight, still clutched in your left hand, wavers as you swing the rifle again, the beam bouncing wildly and casting jagged shadows across the chamber.

A skeleton lunges from your blind spot, and in the frenzy, you instinctively swing your arm. The flashlight is ripped from your grip, clattering to the ground and rolling away. The beam flickers, its runes dimming, as it comes to a stop several feet away.

You curse, instinctively moving to retrieve it, but something makes you stop. The skeletons… they’re no longer swarming you.

Instead, they converge on the flashlight.

The realization hits you like a thunderclap. The beam of light is disrupted by a thousand skeletons, the rune-etched glow pulses faintly, and the undead horde seems drawn to it like moths to a flame. Their movements become frenzied, their empty sockets fixated on the flickering beam as they scramble over one another to reach it.

You backpedal, gripping the rifle tightly as you watch the swarm engulf the flashlight. They claw at it, their skeletal fingers grasping and striking, but the artifact’s runes hold strong, repelling their direct touch. The skeletons hiss—an unnatural, rattling sound—as they try to extinguish the glow.

Your breath catches as you process the implications. The light was keeping the Voidstalkers at bay, but it attracted these things. Without it, the skeletons seem almost… disoriented, their movements less coordinated. They’re focused entirely on destroying the source of light, paying no attention to you.

You take another step back, your boots squelching in the viscous muck beneath you. The thought of leaving the flashlight behind feels like losing a lifeline, but it’s clear you can’t retrieve it without bringing the horde back down on yourself.

The flashlight flickers again, dimming further, the runes struggling against the onslaught. The skeletons redouble their efforts, their bony hands scratching and clawing, desperate to snuff out the light.

The flashlight sputters one last time, the runes dimming completely as the light goes out. The chamber plunges into absolute darkness. The skeletons clatter and groan, their movements slowing until they collapse, one by one, back into inert piles of bones. The sound echoes eerily, then fades, leaving only the oppressive silence.

You stand frozen, your breath shallow and quick, the rifle still gripped tightly in your hands. The silence presses in on you, heavy and absolute, broken only by the faint, wet sounds of the Crawler’s living interior. You’re alone now, the light gone, with no direction and no companions.

Panic grips your chest as you fumble for anything—a match, a spark, a flicker of light—but your hands come up empty. The darkness is so complete it feels physical, a weight pressing against your skin. Your breaths grow more erratic, the oppressive void swallowing any sense of space or time.

“Shit,” you whisper hoarsely, but even your own voice feels distant, swallowed by the dark. “Shit. Shit.”

You take a cautious step forward, the muck beneath your boots squelching softly. The rifle feels heavier with each passing moment, its weight dragging you down. Your fingers fumble against the barrel, slick with sweat and grime, as you try to focus. You have to move. You can’t stay here. But which way is forward? Which way is out?

There’s no way out.

The thought slithers into your mind unbidden, cold and sharp. Your grip on the rifle tightens, your knuckles whitening as you try to shove it aside. You survived the skeletons, the Voidstalkers, even the Crawler itself swallowing you whole. You can’t give up now. But the darkness whispers otherwise, its silence stretching endlessly in every direction.

Minutes blur into what feels like hours as you stumble blindly through the dark. Every step feels the same, the ground soft and uneven beneath you. Your breaths come ragged and shallow, each one louder than the last in the oppressive quiet. The air feels thicker, heavier, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

“Twilight,” you mutter, the name falling from your lips like a prayer. You think of her determination, her trust in you, but the image feels distant, like a memory from another life. Your mind races, trying to hold onto something, anything, but the dark is relentless.

How long have I been here?

The question comes unbidden, and you realize with a jolt that you don’t know. Minutes? Hours? Days? The darkness gives no clues, no markers to measure time. Your stomach growls faintly, the sound swallowed by the void. Hunger gnaws at you, but it feels secondary to the growing weight in your chest.

The Crawler’s wet, rhythmic groans echo faintly around you, but they provide no comfort. Instead, they seem to mock you, reminding you that you’re still inside its endless, living prison.

You start talking to yourself—first in whispers, then louder, desperate to hear something, anything, to remind you that you’re still real. The words tumble out in fragments, meaningless and jumbled.

“Okay, okay, just keep moving. One step at a time. Left foot, right foot. Don’t think about it. Don’t—don’t stop.”

But the silence swallows your voice, making it sound hollow, futile. Doubt creeps in, sharp and insidious. What if you’re walking in circles? What if there’s no way out? What if the Crawler is just waiting for you to collapse, to give in, so it can finish what it started?

You trip, the rifle slipping from your hands and clattering to the ground. You drop to your knees, your palms sinking into the muck as you let out a shuddering breath. The despair is overwhelming now, a weight that presses against your chest and threatens to suffocate you.

“I’m not…” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I’m not done. I can’t be done.”

But the darkness doesn’t answer. The silence stretches on, unbroken, and for the first time, the thought creeps in:

Maybe this is where it ends.

Your fingers tighten against the muck, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear. You can’t see. You can’t think. And the longer you stay here, the harder it is to remember why you’re fighting in the first place.

The image of Twilight’s face flashes in your mind again, faint but insistent. Her trust, her determination, her unwavering belief that you could make it through the forest, through everything. You clutch at the thought, the faint ember of resolve it brings.

Not here. Not yet.

You push yourself up, your hands fumbling in the dark until they find the rifle. The cold metal feels like an anchor, grounding you against the chaos in your mind. You grip it tightly, your breaths slowing, and take a tentative step forward.

The dark presses in, relentless and heavy, but you keep moving. You don’t know where you’re going, but you refuse to stop.

Your boots squelch against the wet floor as you shuffle forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. The darkness remains absolute, pressing against your senses and dulling your thoughts. Hunger gnaws at your stomach, the faint ache now a constant reminder of your fragility. The rifle in your hands is a lifeline, though its weight drags on you more with each passing moment.

You’ve stopped trying to measure time. The concept has lost meaning. Instead, you focus on survival—on placing one foot in front of the other, on listening to the Crawler’s deep, rhythmic groans for any indication of a change, a shift, something. Anything.

The air around you shifts slightly, the oppressive heat easing just enough for you to notice. The ground beneath your boots firms up, transitioning from the spongy organic floor to something harder, smoother. Stone. Your heart skips a beat as you lift your hand, brushing it against the wall. The texture is rough, like aged brick, and crumbles faintly under your fingers.

“A building,” you murmur aloud, your voice hoarse and cracked. Your pulse quickens as you move forward, your hands now outstretched to feel the space around you.

Your fingers catch on the edge of a doorframe—wood, sturdy despite the years it must have spent inside the Crawler. You step through, your foot catching on a fragment of debris that clatters softly to the ground. Inside, the air feels… different. It’s still thick and damp, but there’s a faint sense of calm, of stability.

You stop, standing still for a moment, and notice a faint glow. It’s so dim that at first you think your eyes are playing tricks on you. But as you move closer, you see it—a barely visible shimmer of light emanating from the corner of the room. You crouch down, running your hand over the source: an intricate rune, etched into the stone floor, faintly glowing with residual magic.

It’s a ward.

The glow is weak—barely enough to illuminate the cracks in the stone—but it’s there. You press your hand against it, feeling a faint warmth that seems to seep into your skin. The magic must have been stronger once, powerful enough to protect this room from the Crawler’s corrosive insides. Even now, it’s held together the stone and wood around you, preserving this fragment of the building in a bubble of safety.

You sit back on your heels, your breath shuddering as relief washes over you. For the first time since you were swallowed, you feel a small measure of security. The ward’s magic isn’t enough to keep you fully safe—it doesn’t banish the darkness, doesn’t provide light or food—but it’s something. A barrier, a reprieve, however slight.

Your hands trace the floor, searching for anything the room might offer. You find fragments of pottery, a rusted metal bowl, and a pile of what might once have been fabric. It’s all useless, too degraded to help you. But then your fingers brush against something firmer—something smooth and solid.

You lift it, running your fingers over its surface. A metal box, small and heavily corroded. You set it on the ground and pry at its edges, the rust flaking under your nails. Finally, the lid gives way with a faint groan of protest, revealing its contents.

Inside are a few desiccated strips of something you can only hope was once food—jerky, or its equivalent. The smell is faint but surprisingly not unpleasant, a testament to whatever preservation method was used. You hesitate, your stomach growling audibly, before taking a cautious bite. The taste is bland, salty, and metallic, but it’s food. It’s enough.

You lean back against the wall, chewing slowly, your mind racing. The ward must have been part of the building’s original design—an old magic meant to protect it from something long forgotten. It’s weak now, barely holding on, but it’s kept this fragment of the structure intact.

“This’ll do,” you mutter to yourself, your voice breaking the heavy silence. “For now.”

You place your rifle within reach and settle into the corner, your back against the stone. The faint glow of the ward offers no real light, but its presence is a small comfort. As you chew on the preserved food, your mind drifts. Questions swirl—about the Crawler, about Twilight, about how long you’ve been inside. But the answers feel as far away as the surface.

For now, you’re alive. And in this moment, that has to be enough.

You settle further into the corner of the room, letting the faint hum of the ward ease some of the tension that’s wound itself into your muscles. The darkness presses against the edges of the space, thick and impenetrable beyond the faint glow of the rune. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not actively fighting to survive. The relief is almost dizzying.

As your eyes adjust to the near-darkness, you begin to explore the room more carefully. Your hands move over the rough stone walls, feeling for cracks, for anything out of place. The space is small, barely larger than a storage room, but its intactness is remarkable given the Crawler’s corrosive environment. The ward hums faintly, its magic old but enduring, the only thing keeping this pocket of stability intact.

You find a wooden shelf, its edges splintered but still standing. It holds several objects, most of them useless—a rusted lantern, an empty glass jar, and a pile of brittle papers that disintegrate when you touch them. But one item stands out: a metal canister, tightly sealed and heavier than it looks. You shake it gently, hearing the faint slosh of liquid inside.

“Water?” you murmur, hope creeping into your voice. You twist the lid, the metal creaking with resistance before finally giving way. The smell that greets you is faint but clean. You tilt the canister carefully, taking a small sip. It’s stale but drinkable—a treasure in this place. You drink sparingly, rationing it immediately in your mind.

Further exploration reveals a small bundle of tools tucked into a corner—an old hammer and a rusted chisel, It’s not much, but it’s something.

The Crawler’s movements occasionally jolt you back to the reality of your situation. The ground trembles beneath you, and the groaning of its massive body echoes through the chamber. Each time, you brace yourself, gripping your rifle and pressing close to the ward. But nothing breaches the room. The ward holds.

You find more artifacts buried in the muck near the edges of the room. A tarnished compass, its needle frozen but comforting in its familiarity. A book, its cover too faded to read, the pages warped but still intact enough to flip through. The language is unfamiliar, the script flowing and ornate, but it gives your mind something to latch onto. You spend hours staring at the pages, tracing the letters with your fingers, inventing meanings for the symbols.

Time stretches endlessly. The faint glow of the ward is your only constant, a fragile thread tethering you to sanity.

But even that begins to fade.

At night—or what feels like night—the ward’s hum falters. The glow dims almost imperceptibly, but you notice immediately. The air feels heavier, the darkness pressing closer than before. You sit by the rune, your rifle in one hand and the ornate knife in the other, staring at the faint shimmer of light.

“Don’t you quit on me,” you whisper to the ward, your voice cracking. “You’re all I’ve got.”

The rune pulses faintly, as if in response, but it’s weaker now. You don’t know how much longer it will hold. The realization sends a chill through you, the weight of the Crawler’s endless dark pressing against your mind.

You grip the rifle tightly, your breaths shallow. You’ve survived this long, but the room is no longer enough. Sooner or later, you’ll have to leave. Sooner or later, the ward will fail.

And then what?

Day 1

You use the chisel to carve faint marks into the walls, a way to track time, though more by feeling than any sort of time.

The ward hums faintly, a barely perceptible comfort against the oppressive darkness pressing in on all sides. You wake slowly, your body stiff and aching, the taste of stale air and regret heavy on your tongue. The rifle rests beside you, its cold metal now familiar, almost comforting. You run a hand over the rune on the floor, as if the faint touch of magic could tether you to sanity a little longer.

The routine is the same. Always the same.

You sip at what remains of the water. You check the knife, testing its edge against the wall, though it hardly matters anymore. The compass lies in your lap as you sit against the corner, its needle frozen but still pointing somewhere, anywhere.

They left you. The thought comes unbidden, sharp and bitter. They saw me go down, saw me get swallowed, and they just… ran. Didn’t even try to fight for me.

The anger flares, brief but consuming. You imagine their faces—Rarity’s grim determination, Applejack’s unwavering loyalty, Twilight’s faith in you—and all of it feels hollow. They left you to die. They knew the odds, and they didn’t even try.

You throw the compass against the wall. It clatters to the ground, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the oppressive silence. You regret it instantly, crawling to retrieve it. Your fingers tremble as you hold it again, the metal cold and indifferent.

Day 2?

The anger is gone. The ward’s light flickers occasionally now, a reminder that your time is running out. You sit by it, staring into the faint glow, your thoughts circling like vultures.

Would I have done the same?

You imagine the scene again. The Crawler barreling forward, its grotesque mandibles tearing through the ground. You see yourself, standing in its path, rifle raised in futile defiance. They couldn’t have saved you. Not against something like that. The best they could do was run, and you can’t fault them for that.

You’d have done the same. Wouldn’t you?

You shake your head, as if the motion could dislodge the thought. You run your hand over the rune again, the faint warmth of the ward grounding you. It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.

Day 7?

The routine is breaking. The last of the water is gone, and you’ve taken to chewing on the dried leather strap of the rifle sling just to keep the hollow ache in your stomach at bay. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the faint groans of the Crawler’s body shifting somewhere far away.

You sit in the corner, staring at the walls. The marks you carved seem meaningless now, a futile attempt to impose order on a place that defies it. Your thoughts drift to the others again—not in anger, not in blame, but in quiet resignation.

At least it meant something.

The thought gives you some measure of peace. If your death bought them time, if it helped them escape, then it wasn’t for nothing. You imagine them now—safe, far away from the horrors of the forest. Maybe Twilight made it out after all. Maybe she’s telling Celestia what happened, planning their next move. Maybe they’ll win.

You close your eyes, resting your head against the wall. “At least it meant something,” you whisper aloud, the words a fragile prayer in the dark.

Day ???

The ward is almost gone now. Its light flickers faintly, the hum so weak you have to strain to hear it. You don’t know why you’re still alive, why the Crawler hasn’t crushed you or drowned you in acid. The waiting is the worst part.

You wake to something different. The air feels… wrong. The oppressive groaning of the Crawler’s body is gone, replaced by an unsettling stillness. You sit up slowly, your fingers brushing over the ward. It’s almost completely dark now, the rune’s glow so faint it’s barely visible.

You press your ear to the ground, listening. Nothing. No tremors, no movements, no rhythmic groans. Just silence.

A faint tremor runs through the room—not the Crawler moving, but something else. The ground beneath you shifts slightly, and for a moment, you feel weightless. Then it settles again, and the silence returns.

“What the hell…” you whisper, your voice cracking in the still air.

You stand, gripping the rifle tightly, your instincts screaming that something has changed. You make your way to the edge of the room, peering out into the endless dark. The oppressive heat is gone, replaced by a cool, almost lifeless chill.

The realization hits you like a blow to the chest.

The Crawler is dead.

But how? And what does that mean for you?

The realization that the Crawler is dead grips you with equal parts relief and terror. Its oppressive groans have fallen silent, the rhythmic tremors of its body stilled. But the weight of the darkness is still absolute, pressing in on you, a reminder that survival is far from guaranteed.

You need to move. You need to find a way out. The thought of the Crawler’s mouth—its gaping maw that swallowed you whole—comes unbidden to your mind. If there’s an exit, that’s it.

“Alright,” you whisper to yourself, the sound small in the suffocating silence. “One step at a time.”

The air is different now, cooler and damp in a way that makes your skin crawl. You move carefully, your boots slipping on the slick, uneven ground. The rifle is clutched tightly in your hands, its weight both reassuring and burdensome. You inch forward, relying on touch and memory to navigate the grotesque labyrinth that is the Crawler’s corpse.

The first sign of its death is the smell. A sickly, sweet stench begins to rise, faint at first but growing stronger with every step. It clings to your nostrils, turning your stomach as you press onward. The air feels heavier now, saturated with decay. The body, massive and complex, has begun the inevitable process of breaking down.

Your boots squelch in the muck, the organic floor beneath you softening into something looser, wetter. Fluids seep from the walls, trickling down in viscous streams that cling to your fingers when you reach out for balance. The sound of your movement echoes faintly, a grotesque squelching and splattering that fills the silence.

Your breath comes faster, your pulse hammering in your ears. The darkness is maddening, absolute. Without the ward’s faint glow or the flashlight, you’re navigating by instinct alone, your hands brushing against the slimy walls to guide you. The rifle’s weight drags at your arms, but you refuse to let go of it. It’s your only weapon, your only connection to sanity in this lightless, decaying world.

The terrain becomes more treacherous as you press on. The organic tissue of the walls has started to collapse, leaving jagged protrusions of bone and cartilage exposed. You trip over something solid—a piece of debris, maybe part of the ruins the Crawler swallowed—and barely catch yourself before falling face-first into the muck.

“Damn it,” you hiss, your voice trembling. You grip the rifle tighter, the cold metal grounding you as you push yourself back to your feet.

The smell grows stronger, almost unbearable now. The fluids pooling on the ground have thickened, their acrid stench burning your nostrils. You cough, your stomach lurching, but you force yourself to keep moving.

You lose track of time. Minutes, hours—they blur together in the endless dark. Your hands are raw from scraping against the jagged walls, your legs trembling from the effort of slogging through the muck. The rifle feels heavier with each step, but you can’t bring yourself to let it go.

At some point, you stop, leaning against the wall to catch your breath. The air is thicker now, harder to breathe, and the stench of decay is overpowering. Your head swims, your thoughts growing sluggish. The darkness presses in, oppressive and unyielding.

But you can’t stop. Not here.

You push yourself forward again, your movements slower, more labored. The terrain shifts beneath you, the ground sloping upward slightly. You don’t know if it’s progress or just another trick of the Crawler’s vast, decaying corpse, but it’s something.

The squelching sound of your boots changes, the wet muck giving way to something firmer. The air feels slightly less oppressive, though the stench remains unbearable. You press your hand to the wall, feeling the texture change—less organic, more rigid.

You move faster, ignoring the screaming ache in your legs and the rawness of your hands. The darkness remains impenetrable, but the faint change in the air—the sense of space widening—spurs you on.

And then, far ahead, you hear it: a faint, hollow sound. The whisper of wind.

The mouth. It has to be.

You grit your teeth, your body trembling with exhaustion, and press forward. The thought of the wind, of fresh air, keeps you moving. But the Crawler’s body is collapsing around you, and you know your time is running out. If you don’t reach the mouth soon, you won’t make it at all.

You stumble forward, the faint sound of wind growing louder, almost beckoning you. Your legs feel like lead, every step an act of sheer will as the muck clings to your boots. The air shifts again, cooler and sharper, carrying a faint scent that feels alien after so long inside the Crawler’s corpse.

Finally, the ground beneath you slopes upward sharply, and you lurch forward, your hands clawing at the slick surface for purchase. The sound of the wind is almost deafening now, a hollow roar that cuts through the oppressive silence you’ve grown used to. You push yourself upward, gasping for breath, and then—

Light.

It’s blinding, searing into your eyes after endless days in darkness. You recoil instinctively, throwing up an arm to shield your face, but the brightness penetrates even through your closed eyelids. You gasp, your lungs heaving as the first rush of fresh air floods them. It burns, sharp and almost painful, as if your body has forgotten how to breathe anything but the thick, acrid air of the Crawler.

You collapse to your knees, the rifle slipping from your hands as you claw at the ground. The cool wind brushes against your skin, unfamiliar and almost offensive after the stifling heat inside. You cough violently, your body rebelling against the sudden change, and tears stream down your face as your chest heaves with ragged breaths.

For a long moment, you stay there, hunched over on the ground, your body trembling. The sunlight—merciless in its intensity—finally begins to fade from a blinding white to a dim, muted glow behind your closed eyelids. You blink cautiously, your vision a blurry haze of colors and shapes.

It takes time—how much, you’re not sure—for your sight to adjust. The world comes into focus slowly, painfully, like waking from a long, dreamless sleep. The ground beneath you is hard and uneven, the dirt cool against your palms. The forest looms in the distance, its twisted canopy a dark, oppressive silhouette against the sky.

You push yourself to your feet, unsteady and weak, and turn to face the Crawler. The sight of its massive body, motionless and decaying, fills you with a strange mix of relief and horror. The creature that consumed you, that should have been your grave, is finally dead.

But as your eyes trace the length of its grotesque form, something catches your attention. Far in the distance—so far that the sheer scale of the Crawler’s body makes it seem small—you see that its back half is gone. Not decayed. Not collapsed. Eaten.

Your stomach churns as the realization sinks in. The smooth, unnatural edges where the Crawler’s body ends are unmistakable. Something fed on it—something massive, something powerful enough to consume even this monstrosity.

The wind carries the faint stench of decay, mingled with something sharper, more metallic. You take a step closer, your legs trembling, and then stop. The thought of going any nearer to the Crawler—of being anywhere near what might still lurk around its remains—freezes you in place.

Your eyes scan the surrounding area, the forest stretching endlessly on either side. The Crawler’s corpse is a grotesque monument, its size making it impossible to ignore. But the sight of its missing back half gnaws at your mind, a reminder that even something as unstoppable as this was prey to something else.

You clutch the rifle tightly, your knuckles white against the cold metal. The wind brushes against your skin, a reminder of the open air, the freedom you’ve clawed your way back to. But the thought of what might have done this—the sheer, unimaginable scale of it—makes the fresh air feel suffocating.

You turn away from the Crawler, your steps unsteady but deliberate. Whatever is out there, whatever took down the back half of the monster that swallowed you whole, It's beyond you.

For now, you’re alive. And that will have to be enough.

Echo

The forest stretches endlessly in every direction, an oppressive tangle of trees and undergrowth that seems to mock your every step. The air is thick with the mingled scents of earth and decay, and your stomach churns with hunger, your body trembling with exhaustion. You press on, leaning heavily on your rifle, the cold metal comforting despite its weight.

Your eyes dart around constantly, scanning the shadows for movement. Every crackle of leaves or distant rustle sends your heart racing. The knowledge that you’re deep in the Everfree, surrounded by creatures that would see you as prey, is a constant weight on your mind. But survival is instinctive now. You focus on the basics: water, food, rest.

The stream is a miracle.

You stumble upon it unexpectedly, the sound of trickling water drawing you closer. The sight of the clear, flowing current fills you with a desperate kind of relief. You drop to your knees at the edge, cupping your hands to scoop the water to your lips. It’s cold, clean, and almost painfully refreshing. You drink deeply, not caring about the dirt on your hands or the way the icy water makes your teeth ache.

Nearby, you find bushes heavy with berries—small, deep blue, and slightly tart. You hesitate for a moment, testing a single berry against your tongue, but hunger wins out. They’re edible, and you devour handfuls, the sweetness mixing with the metallic taste of relief.

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to be grateful. The water, the food—they’re not much, but they’re enough to keep you going. You sit by the stream, your back against a tree, and close your eyes. The rifle rests across your lap, a constant reminder of where you are and what could come.

Nightfall in the Everfree is a different kind of terror.

The forest comes alive with the sounds of predators stalking, unseen creatures rustling through the undergrowth. The darkness is absolute, and even with your instincts honed by survival, the sense of being watched is unavoidable.

You’re perched on a low branch of a tree, rifle slung across your shoulder, the dagger tucked into your belt. Sleep isn’t an option. Not here. You keep your ears tuned to the sounds of the forest, your body tense and ready to move at the first sign of danger.

It finds you before you find it.

The first sound is a faint mimicry—a "Hello?... is Anyone there?", It's distorted and wrong, but familiar enough to send a chill down your spine. You grip the rifle tightly, scanning the darkness below. Then you see it.

A figure emerges from the shadows, its movements jerky and unnatural. Its elongated limbs stretch in grotesque mimicry of human anatomy, and its face—or lack thereof—sends a wave of nausea through you. A blank, smooth surface where features should be, and yet you feel its gaze pierce you.

A Mimic.

You’ve killed one before, but the memory doesn’t ease the fear clawing at your chest. It was never easy, and this time, you’re weaker, slower, and more vulnerable. The mimic tilts its head, its blank face directed toward you, and it speaks again—"H-Help me?".

Your rifle rises instinctively. You aim for the chest, steadying your breath, and pull the trigger.

Click.

The sound sends panic racing through you. You pull the bolt back, clearing the chamber, and try again. Click. The rifle jams, refusing to fire. The mimic moves closer, its limbs bending unnaturally as it climbs toward you.

“Damn it!” you hiss, discarding the rifle and drawing the dagger. The pristine blade catches the faint moonlight filtering through the trees, its surface gleaming with eerie perfection. You grip it tightly, the hilt fitting snugly in your hand.

You slash at the mimic as it lunges, the blade cutting into its elongated arm. The strike lands, but the mimic barely reacts, its movements fluid and unrelenting. You slash again, aiming for its torso, but the blade doesn’t sink deep enough. The creature’s blank face turns toward you, its body twisting unnaturally as it reaches out.

Desperation drives you. Your thumb presses against the hilt of the dagger, and you feel something—an indentation, a button you hadn’t noticed before. Without thinking, you press it.

A faint click echoes through the night, followed by a surge of energy.

The dagger ignites.

A radiant fire bursts to life around the blade, illuminating the darkness with an otherworldly glow. The mimic recoils, its jerky movements faltering as the light sears into its flesh. You don’t stop to question it. You lunge forward, the blade striking the mimic’s torso.

It burns. The mimic lets out a soundless scream, its body writhing as the radiant flames consume it. You slash again, this time severing one of its elongated limbs. The flames spread, devouring the creature like dry kindling.

The mimic collapses, its blank face twisting into something almost human before disintegrating into ash. The radiant fire dims, retreating into the blade, leaving only the faint crackle of the forest around you.

You stand there, trembling, the dagger still in your hand. The glow of the blade fades entirely, leaving you in the dark once more. The forest is silent, as if holding its breath, and you feel the weight of what just happened settle heavily on your shoulders.

The mimic is dead. But you are still here, alone, in the heart of the Everfree.

The forest is silent again, but it feels no less dangerous. You glance at the pile of ash where the mimic fell, the eerie glow of its final moments still burning in your mind. The dagger in your hand is cold now, the radiant fire having faded entirely, leaving the blade pristine once more. The button on the hilt catches your eye, its presence both reassuring and troubling.

You crouch near, the faint moonlight breaking through the canopy, examining the dagger more closely. The button is small, set into the hilt near the base. Above it, a faintly translucent crystal is embedded, its surface smooth and flawless. You run your thumb over it, noting how it seems to refract the faint light, glowing faintly when you tilt it just right.

“Battery?” you mutter to yourself, the thought sending a pang of worry through your chest. You press the button again, just for a moment, and the blade ignites once more. The radiant fire bursts forth, illuminating the immediate area with its holy glow. You release the button quickly, extinguishing the flames.

The crystal dims but doesn’t lose its faint glow. Whatever powers the dagger, it hasn’t depleted—yet. But that doesn’t mean it’s infinite. You can’t rely on it blindly, not without understanding its limits.

You push the dagger into its makeshift sheath at your side, resolving to use it sparingly. The cool metal of the rifle slung over your shoulder reminds you of your next task—getting it back into working order. It’s a mess, jammed and worn, the leather sling gone after you tore into it in desperation days ago. Without it, you’re forced to carry the weapon in your hands, which makes moving through the forest all the more difficult.

You find a small, sheltered spot under a thick tree canopy where the ground is relatively dry. The rifle feels heavier than it should as you set it down, your arms aching from exhaustion. The moonlight filters through the branches in faint shafts, just enough to see the rifle’s condition.

The action is stiff, the mechanism clogged with muck and grit from the Crawler’s innards. The stock is scratched and chipped, and the barrel is streaked with grime. You pull the bolt back slowly, the motion grinding in protest. A single empty shell casing falls out, landing softly in the dirt. It’s a bitter reminder of the last time you fired it, the mimic bearing down on you.

With no proper cleaning tools, you make do with what you have. You tear a strip from the hem of your shirt, wrapping it around a stick and running it down the inside of the barrel. The fabric comes out blackened and slimy, but it’s better than nothing. You wipe down the exterior, focusing on the trigger mechanism and the bolt. Your fingers tremble as you work, a combination of exhaustion and the creeping realization of how fragile your situation has become.

When you’re satisfied—or as close to satisfied as you can be—you reassemble the rifle and aim it at a nearby tree, testing the mechanism. The bolt slides forward with a reluctant click, and you pull the trigger.

Click.

You grit your teeth, pulling the bolt back and trying again. This time, it cycles properly, the metallic sound sharp in the stillness. Whether the rifle will fire when you need it is another question entirely, but for now, it’s functional.

You lean back against the tree, the rifle resting across your lap. The effort of cleaning it has drained you further, and the realization that it may still fail you when it counts only adds to the weight on your shoulders. The forest presses in around you, the silence heavy, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or distant animal calls.

Your thoughts drift to the others. To Twilight, to the group that fled the Crawler after you were swallowed. Did they think you were dead? Of course they did. Who wouldn’t? You’d have thought the same if you’d seen someone dragged into that monster’s maw.

The anger from earlier bubbles up again, but it’s fleeting, dissipating as quickly as it came. It wasn’t their fault. You’d have done the same thing. It wasn’t cowardice—it was survival.

“Still here,” you mutter to yourself, your voice hollow. “Not sure why, but still here.”

The moon shifts higher in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows through the forest. Your stomach churns with hunger again, the berries and water you found earlier barely enough to sustain you. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the oppressive weight of your circumstances, but the image of the mimic’s blank face flashes behind your eyelids, jerking you back to full alertness.

You run a hand over the rifle again, feeling the cold metal beneath your fingers. It might shoot. It might not. But you don’t have the luxury of doubt anymore. If the mimic was any indication, the forest isn’t done with you.

The dagger at your side is a tool, a weapon, but its unknown power fills you with equal parts hope and dread. You glance at it briefly before turning your attention back to the forest.

The forest seems almost alive as the hours crawl by, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional crackle of leaves or distant animal calls. The weight of the rifle in your hands feels more real than the ground beneath your feet. After everything, you decide to wait until morning before moving again. Whatever lurks in the shadows of the Everfree is bad enough in daylight—at night, it’s suicide.

You find a spot beneath a dense thicket of bushes, the leaves and branches forming a crude shelter. The ground is damp and uncomfortable, but it’s defensible. You sit with your back to a tree, the rifle across your lap, and the dagger sheathed at your side. Sleep feels impossible, but exhaustion eventually pulls you into a restless half-dream.

The faint light of dawn filters through the canopy, the muted colors of the forest barely more inviting in the daylight. The stench of decay from the Crawler lingers faintly on the breeze, a reminder of the massive corpse somewhere behind you. You stand and stretch, your muscles stiff and aching, before slinging the rifle over your shoulder and setting out.

The forest feels different in the daylight, but not safer. The sounds are sharper now—the rustle of leaves, the distant chirps of birds, the faint buzz of insects. Every noise puts you on edge, your grip tightening on the rifle as you move cautiously through the underbrush.

And then you hear it. The faint flutter of wings.

You freeze, your heart pounding as your eyes scan the treetops. It’s faint, but unmistakable—something is moving above you. The sound grows louder, closer, until suddenly, a shadow drops from the canopy, slamming into you with enough force to knock you to the ground.

You hit the ground hard, the rifle slipping from your hands as you struggle to get your bearings. A blur of dark fur and leathery wings fills your vision, and you lash out instinctively, grappling with your attacker. Small but fast, it darts around your strikes, its fangs grazing your arms.

“What the hell—?!” you shout, rolling to avoid another swipe.

The figure retreats for a moment, crouching low in the underbrush. You grab the rifle and aim, your hands trembling as you take in the sight before you.

It’s a pony—or at least, something resembling one. Small and wiry, with dark gray fur and piercing, slit-pupil eyes that glint with a faint, feral light. Bat-like wings stretch from its sides, the leathery membrane ragged in places. It has a short sword on its hip, rusted over. Its ears twitch, sharp and alert, and its fangs glint in the dim morning light.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The creature’s body is tense, its wings half-spread, as if ready to pounce again. Its gaze flickers between you and the rifle. Something about its eyes... it's too aware to be a monster. Doesn't have that same hunger.

“Stay back,” you warn, your voice hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It tilts its head, confusion flashing across its sharp features. Then it speaks, its voice high and accusatory. “What are you?”

The question throws you. “I’m human,” you say, still aiming the rifle. “What the hell are you?”

The creature flinches at the hostility in your tone but doesn’t back down. “I’m a thestral. Part of the Lunar Guard.” It narrows its eyes. “You look like a monster.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The tension between you is palpable, the air thick with mutual suspicion. You tighten your grip on the rifle, your finger hovering near the trigger. The thestral lowers her stance, her wings twitching as if ready to spring.

“I thought all the platoons were gone,” you say cautiously, not lowering your weapon. “The ones sent for Celestia.”

She snorts, her sharp fangs visible for a moment. “Most of us didn’t make it. This forest doesn’t let go of anything.”

The thestral’s ears flick toward you, her gaze softening slightly. “Wait… did you say Celestia?”

You nod, cautiously lowering the rifle a fraction. “She’s alive. I got her out of here weeks ago.”

The thestral’s eyes widen in shock, her aggressive posture faltering. “You… you saved her?”

“Yeah. Barely.”

The thestral stares at you for a long moment, her sharp eyes searching your face as if trying to find the lie. When she doesn’t, her wings droop slightly, and she lets out a shaky breath. “You got her out…? Then you’ve done more than any of us could.”

She takes a cautious step back, her movements deliberate as she folds her wings against her sides. Only now, in the dim daylight filtering through the trees, do you notice just how battered she looks. Her armor—if you can still call it that—is cracked and filthy, the once-polished metal now dull and streaked with grime. Her fur is matted in places, and the leathery membranes of her wings are frayed and torn.

“How long have you been out here?” you ask, lowering the rifle further but keeping it at the ready.

She hesitates, her ears twitching as she glances around the forest. “Too long,” she mutters. “Weeks, maybe. Lost track of time after the rest of my squad…” Her voice trails off, and she looks down, her slitted eyes briefly shadowed with guilt. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” you say, your tone blunt. “You’re lucky to still be breathing in this place. Most don’t last a day.”

She snorts, a dry, humorless sound. “You’re not wrong.”

There’s an awkward silence between you, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves. Finally, she straightens, a flicker of determination in her weary posture. “My name’s Echo,” she says, her voice firmer now. “Lunar Guard, second platoon. Or… what’s left of it.”

“Echo,” you repeat, the name rolling awkwardly off your tongue. “I’m just…" you pause for a moment, something fleeting on the tip of your tongue. "A human.” you finish.

“Just human?” she says, raising a brow. “That’s it? No rank, no title?”

“Not out here,” you reply with a shrug. “Out here, it’s just survival.”

As you talk, you notice the way Echo’s body sways slightly, as if she’s barely keeping herself upright. She’s gaunt, her movements sluggish, and her eyes dart nervously toward the shadows of the trees. She’s clearly been running on fumes for a long time.

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” you say, the bluntness in your voice making her glare at you. “When was the last time you ate?”

Her wings twitch, a sign of irritation, but she doesn’t deny it. “There’s not much out here that’s safe to eat,” she admits. “And the water… it’s not always clean.”

You glance back toward the stream you’d found earlier. It’s not far, and the water was clean enough for you. “There’s a stream about half a mile back,” you offer. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Echo hesitates, her pride visibly warring with her survival instincts. Finally, she nods. “Lead the way.”

You walk in silence, the forest pressing in around you with its oppressive weight. Echo sticks close, her sharp eyes scanning the trees for any sign of danger. You keep the rifle slung over your shoulder, your hand resting on the stock, ready to grab it at a moment’s notice.

When you reach the stream, Echo drops to her knees without hesitation, cupping the water in her hooves and drinking deeply. The sight reminds you of your own desperation when you first found it, and for a moment, you feel a flicker of something like kinship.

“Thanks,” she says gruffly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hoof. “For the water.”

“Don’t mention it,” you reply, sitting on a nearby rock. “You’re going to need your strength if we’re going to get out of here.”

She looks up at you sharply. “We?”

“You think I’m sticking around this hellhole any longer than I have to?” you say with a smirk. “We’re both trying to survive, right? Might as well work together.”

Echo hesitates again, her slitted eyes narrowing as she studies you. Finally, she nods, a reluctant but genuine gesture. “Fine. But if you slow me down—”

“You’ll leave me behind,” you interrupt, finishing her thought. “Yeah, I figured. Just don’t try to bite me in my sleep.”

Her lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through her guarded expression. “No promises, human.”

The uneasy alliance between you and Echo carries you deeper into the forest. The tension between you has eased slightly, though not enough to make the silence comfortable. Echo stays close but maintains a wary distance, her sharp eyes darting to every shadow and flickering movement. Her weariness is obvious.

“I’ve been surviving on scraps when I can find them, but… thestrals can’t eat meat. Fruit, flowers, nectar—that’s all we can stomach. Not exactly plentiful out here.”

You frown, the weight of her predicament hitting you harder than expected. You’ve been scavenging what you can, but the forest isn’t exactly kind to anyone, let alone someone with such specific dietary needs.

You press on, your rifle slung across your back and the dagger sheathed at your side. The forest grows darker as the canopy thickens, the light filtering through in fragmented patches. The air grows heavier, the scent of decay mingling with something sweet—cloyingly sweet.

Echo freezes beside you, her ears swiveling. “Do you smell that?”

You sniff the air, the sickly-sweet aroma growing stronger. It’s almost inviting, but there’s something off about it. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Smells like… fruit?”

Echo’s wings flutter with barely concealed excitement. “We need to check it out,” she says, her voice quick and eager.

“Hold on,” you say, grabbing her shoulder before she can dart forward. “This forest doesn’t give out free meals. Let me take point.”

She scowls but nods, her hunger-worn frame too weak to argue. You unsling your rifle, your finger brushing the trigger as you move toward the source of the smell.

The trees part, revealing a small clearing bathed in an eerie green glow. At the center stands a massive tree, its trunk gnarled and hollowed, with glowing fruit hanging from its branches. The fruit pulses faintly, as if alive, their sweet aroma thick in the air.

Echo steps closer, her eyes fixed on the glowing bounty. “It’s perfect,” she whispers, her wings fluttering with anticipation.

“Wait,” you warn, your voice low and tense. “Something’s wrong.”

The tree doesn’t move, but there’s a stillness about it that feels too deliberate. Its branches sway gently, but there’s no wind. The fruit hangs low, almost inviting you to reach out and pluck it. The hollow trunk, wide enough to swallow a person whole, seems to yawn in the dim light.

“It’s bait,” you say, your grip tightening on the rifle. “Stay back.”

But Echo’s hunger gets the better of her. She steps forward, her hoof brushing the forest floor as she reaches for one of the glowing fruits.

The tree moves.

Its branches lash out with terrifying speed, one wrapping around Echo’s leg and yanking her into the air. She screams, her wings flapping frantically as the tree’s trunk begins to split open, revealing a grotesque maw lined with jagged wooden teeth.

“Damn it!” you shout, raising your rifle. You fire, the shot echoing through the clearing. The bullet strikes one of the tree’s limbs, splintering it, but the massive creature barely flinches.

The Maw lets out a deep, resonant groan, its other branches writhing toward you. You drop the rifle, and draw the dagger, tree vs. Fire. The button on the hilt feels cold under your thumb as you press it.

The blade ignites in a burst of radiant fire, casting a searing light across the clearing. The creature recoils, its branches snapping back as the fire burns through the darkness. You lunge forward, slashing at the limb holding Echo. The radiant blade cuts through it like butter, and she drops to the ground with a thud.

“Move!” you shout, your voice hoarse.

Echo scrambles back, her wings dragging as she gasps for breath. The Maw doesn’t retreat. Its trunk splits wider, revealing rows of jagged wooden teeth dripping with thick sap that glows faintly. The creature groans again, its branches snapping toward you with renewed fury.

You grit your teeth, gripping the radiant dagger tightly. “Alright, you bastard,” you mutter, the fire reflecting in your eyes. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The Maw surges forward, its massive branches lashing out with unnatural speed. You hold the glowing dagger tightly, its radiant fire illuminating the grotesque details of the creature’s jagged maw. Every instinct tells you to run, but the Maw doesn’t give you that luxury—it’s relentless, each movement precise and deliberate.

You swing the blade as one of the branches lunges at you, the radiant fire cutting through the wood like butter. The severed limb falls to the ground, smoldering and crackling as the fire consumes it. The Maw recoils, groaning in what sounds like pain, but it’s far from defeated. Another branch snakes toward you, this one faster and more precise.

You slash again, the dagger’s fire leaving a glowing arc in its wake, but you’re no swordsman. Your movements are clumsy, born of desperation rather than skill. The branch grazes your shoulder, the force spinning you around. You stumble, barely managing to stay on your feet, and your eyes dart to where you dropped your rifle.

It’s lying in the dirt, just a few steps away.

“Cover me!” you shout to Echo, though you doubt she’s in any condition to fight. Her sharp, labored breaths are the only response, and you know you’re on your own.

You lunge for the rifle, diving and rolling as another branch slams into the ground where you stood moments before. Grabbing the weapon, you swing it up, aiming at the creature’s gaping maw. The glowing sap inside it pulses like a heartbeat, a sickly green light that makes your skin crawl.

You pull the trigger.

Nothing happens.

“Come on!” you growl, your hands fumbling with the bolt as you try to clear the jam. The mechanism is sticky, the rifle caked with dirt and grime from your time in the Crawler. You manage to force the bolt back, chambering another round, and fire again.

This time, the gun kicks against your shoulder, the shot echoing through the clearing. The bullet strikes the creature’s trunk, splintering the wood and sending a spray of sap flying. The Maw shudders but doesn’t stop. Its branches lash out again, one grazing your leg and nearly knocking you off balance.

You aim for the pulsing glow inside the trunk and fire. The rifle jams again.

“Damn it!” you shout, your voice echoing with frustration.

With no time to clear the jam, you drop the rifle and grip the dagger with both hands. The radiant fire flares to life again, its heat searing against your skin. The Maw’s branches close in, their movements more erratic now, as if the creature is starting to panic.

You slash wildly, the blade carving through the thick wood with unnatural ease. Each swing is clumsy, your muscles straining with the effort, but the radiant fire does its work. Severed branches fall around you, burning and hissing as the fire consumes them.

The Maw lets out another groan, its trunk splitting wider as it lunges toward you. The grotesque maw is fully open now, revealing rows of jagged wooden teeth slick with glowing sap. The smell is overwhelming, a mix of rotting wood and something sickly sweet.

You leap back, swinging the dagger in a desperate arc as the creature’s maw snaps shut just inches from your face. The blade cuts deep into the trunk, the fire spreading along the edges of the wound. The Maw shudders violently, its branches thrashing as the radiant fire begins to consume it from within.

Sweat drips down your face as you step back, panting, the dagger still glowing in your hand.

The Maw convulses, its branches twitching erratically as the radiant fire spreads like a living entity. The flames creep along the twisted wood, igniting the sap-filled fruit that hang from the branches. The sickly sweet smell intensifies, mingling with the acrid stench of burning wood and sap.

As the fire consumes the Maw, it lets out a final, guttural groan—a sound that seems to reverberate through the forest itself. The massive trunk begins to split apart, glowing cracks spiderwebbing across its surface. You stagger back, watching in grim fascination as the creature collapses in on itself, the radiant fire engulfing it completely.

For a moment, it feels like it’s over. But then you see it.

The flames leap from the Maw’s remains to the nearby trees, licking hungrily at the ancient, gnarled bark. The fire moves unnaturally, fueled by the same radiant energy that destroyed the Maw. The glow spreads, each tree igniting in turn, as the forest itself catches fire.

Panic surges in your chest. The radiant flames aren’t like normal fire; they don’t just burn—they consume. And they’re spreading fast.

You grab your rifle from the dirt, slinging it over your shoulder as you stumble backward. The glow from the fire is growing brighter, casting long, flickering shadows through the clearing. Beads of sweat form on your skin despite the cool forest air.

Behind you, Echo stirs, her weak voice cutting through the crackling flames. “What’s… happening?”

“The forest is burning,” you say, your voice rough. “But not like it should. We need to move. Now.”

She nods weakly, pushing herself to her hooves with visible effort. Her armor clinks softly as she stands, and you see the exhaustion etched into her face. But there’s no time to rest.

You grab her arm, steadying her. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” she says, though her voice is strained. “Let’s go.”

The two of you push through the underbrush, the radiant flames chasing you with relentless speed. The forest seems to twist and warp under the heat, the shadows playing tricks on your mind. Every step feels heavier than the last, your lungs burning with exertion.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the fire stops.

You glance back, your heart pounding in your chest. The flames recede, as if an unseen force has pulled them back. The forest is still once more, the silence deafening in its suddenness.

You and Echo stop, panting as you collapse onto the cool, ash-covered ground. The air is thick with the pungent smell of burnt wood and sap, a sour tang that stings your nose and throat. Your hands tremble as you clutch your knees, trying to catch your breath.

The forest behind you is unnaturally quiet. Not even the insects chirp or hum. You force yourself to stand and take a cautious step forward, the ashes crunching softly beneath your boots. The clearing where the Maw once loomed has been reduced to an eerily perfect circle of desolation.

It’s as if the fire hit an invisible wall. Beyond the boundary, the forest is untouched—green and thriving, the shadows cast by the trees seeming darker against the stark contrast of the ash. Inside the circle, everything is gone. The trees, the underbrush, even the dirt looks scorched and lifeless, the ground cracked and dry.

You run your fingers through the fine ash at your feet, its texture like sand. “What the hell…?” you mutter.

Echo stumbles to your side, her eyes wide as she takes in the scene. “It’s… like it didn’t just burn. It erased everything.”

“Everything except us,” you say, your voice hollow. You glance back at the faint tracks you left behind as you escaped the spreading fire. The ashes don’t seem to cling to you or Echo, almost as if the fire avoided you both intentionally.

The sheer emptiness of the circle feels oppressive. You sit down on a fallen log just beyond the boundary, the faint green of untouched forest brushing against your shoulder. Echo sits next to you, her breathing heavy but steady.

She shifts uncomfortably, her armor rattling softly. “I don’t understand… that thing, that fire—it didn’t feel natural. It felt alive.”

“Yeah,” you agree, gripping your rifle. The weapon feels heavier now, the leather strap you ate long gone, forcing you to carry it in one hand. You glance at the radiant dagger at your side. “That fire came from this.”

Echo stares at the blade, her eyes narrowing. “And you used it?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” you say, your tone defensive. “It was either use the dagger or get eaten.”

She doesn’t respond, her gaze flickering back to the circle. After a long pause, she says, “We need to move. Staying here feels… wrong.”

You stand, brushing ash off your clothes. The forest ahead beckons, dense and suffocating, but the circle of ash behind you feels even worse. You don’t know what happened to the Maw—what that fire really was—but you know one thing: the Everfree has only grown more dangerous.

As you and Echo take your first steps back into the untouched forest, you hear something faint in the distance. It’s a low, guttural growl, reverberating through the trees like a distant earthquake. You exchange a wary glance with Echo, her ears twitching as she tries to pinpoint the source.

“What now?” she mutters.

You tighten your grip on the rifle, the dagger at your side a heavy reminder of the choices you’ve made. The forest watches as you push forward, the air thick with the promise of more trials to come. The sounds pass by, leaving you undisturbed.

The hours stretch long as you and Echo continue through the forest, the oppressive silence only broken by the occasional crack of a branch underfoot or the distant rustle of leaves. The air feels heavier here, like the forest itself is pressing down on you, but you push forward. Every step is a fight against the ache in your muscles and the gnawing hunger in your belly.

Echo flits her wings occasionally, the leathery sound cutting through the quiet. Her sharp eyes dart around, scanning the underbrush for any signs of danger—or food. Despite her sharp features and beaten armor, there’s a determined light in her eyes that makes her seem almost invincible. Almost.

“Over here,” she whispers, crouching low near a patch of strange, bulbous plants.

You move beside her, your rifle ready, though the effort to hold it is beginning to strain your arm. She points to the plants, their vibrant green leaves dotted with bright yellow fruit.

“You ever seen these before?” you ask, your voice low.

She shakes her head. “No, but they don’t smell like poison.” She plucks one, sniffs it cautiously, and takes the tiniest nibble. Her eyes narrow as she chews, then she swallows. “Not bad. A little bitter, but it’s something.”

You let her test the fruit for a few minutes before joining her. Hunger drives you to take a cautious bite, and while the taste is far from pleasant, it’s tolerable. Between the two of you, you gather enough to fill a satchel Echo salvaged from her armor’s side pouch.

Nearby, you also find a shallow stream. The water is murky but drinkable after you filter it through some cloth. It’s not enough to feel full, but it’s enough to keep going. For now.

As the day fades, the light dims to a soft glow filtering through the canopy. The forest shifts with the onset of night, its sounds becoming sharper and more unsettling. You find a hollow beneath a massive tree, the roots twisting into a natural shelter.

“This will do,” you say, setting your rifle down with a sigh. Echo nods, flopping onto the ground beside you with a grunt.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she asks, stretching her legs. Her wings flutter lazily before folding against her sides.

“Talking doesn’t keep us alive,” you reply, pulling a piece of cloth from your pocket and using it to wipe down your rifle. The metal is scratched and dented, the jammed mechanism frustratingly difficult to work with, but it’s still your best defense. You’re not giving up on it yet.

“Yeah, but it keeps us sane,” Echo says, resting her head on her hooves. “You’ve got to admit, we’re not exactly in the best company out here.”

You snort, not looking up. “You say that like I’m supposed to be entertaining.”

She chuckles softly, the sound oddly warm. “Not entertaining, just… not grumpy all the time.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you say flatly, giving the rifle a final wipe before setting it aside. “This place doesn’t give much to be happy about.”

The fire crackles softly between you, the faint light casting long shadows on the forest floor. Echo leans closer, her sharp eyes glinting in the dim light. “You know, you’re not as bad as you act.”

You glance at her, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” she says, her tone teasing, “you’re gruff, sure, but you’ve got a heart in there somewhere. Saving me? Risking your neck for some bat pony you’ve never met? That’s more than most would do.”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “You needed help. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to me,” she says, her voice softening. She shifts closer, her eyes meeting yours. “Most ponies would have been too scared. They’d have left me to die.”

“Well, I’m not most ponies,” you say, your voice more defensive than you intended. You glance away, suddenly uncomfortable.

She smiles, her fangs glinting faintly. “No, you’re not. You’re something else.” Her voice drops, a playful edge creeping into it. “You know, I think I like you.”

You groan inwardly, turning your attention back to the fire. “Don’t start.”

“What? Can’t a mare be grateful?” she teases, leaning a little closer. “Maybe even a little… fond?”

“Fond,” you repeat, deadpan. “Right. That’s what this is.”

Echo laughs, the sound light and genuine. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re annoying.”

She smirks, settling back against the tree’s roots. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. The forest around you feels quieter now, the darkness less oppressive with the fire’s glow. You settle in for the night, determined to ignore her playful jabs and the unsettling warmth in her gaze.

You’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes. For now, you just need to survive the night.

Echo.

The night passes in tense silence, broken only by the occasional crack of a branch or the rustling of leaves in the distance. You and Echo take shifts, each keeping one eye open and a hand—or hoof—close to a weapon. The forest doesn’t sleep, but at least it keeps its distance. When it’s your turn to rest, the hard ground and your own nerves make sleep fleeting and shallow. Echo watches over the camp during her shift, her keen eyes scanning the darkness while her ears twitch at every faint sound.

By the time the first rays of dawn pierce through the canopy, the world feels colder and heavier than it did the day before. The forest, with its ever-present shadows and whispers, hasn’t lost its grip on your nerves. You wake up to the smell of damp earth and the faint sound of Echo rustling through the underbrush.

“You’re up,” she says, her voice carrying a soft edge as she steps into view. Her armor clinks faintly, the dull sheen of it catching the light in patches. It’s clear she’s been up for a while, her sharp eyes more alert than you’d expect after a night of little sleep.

“Yeah,” you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. Your body aches from the makeshift bed, every muscle protesting as you push yourself upright. The rifle is still by your side, and you grab it instinctively, feeling its weight as if to confirm it’s still real. The dagger sits in its sheath at your hip, a quiet presence that you haven’t yet fully come to terms with.

Echo crouches by the smoldering remnants of the fire, nibbling on a piece of fruit you’d scavenged the day before. She glances at you, her sharp features softening just slightly. “You look like you’ve slept under a rock.”

“Feels like it too,” you reply, stretching your shoulders. “But I guess I should be grateful we made it through the night.”

Her smirk is faint but noticeable. “Maybe you should thank me for keeping watch. Kept all the big bad monsters away while you were snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” you say flatly, grabbing a piece of fruit from the pile and biting into it.

“You sure about that?” she teases, her tone light. “I might’ve heard a bear rumbling in its sleep.”

You roll your eyes, focusing on the fruit. It’s bitter and a little mushy, but it’s enough to keep you going. The silence between you stretches, filled only by the sounds of the forest waking up.

After breaking camp, you check your rifle again, fiddling with the bolt and testing its action. The weapon feels off, the jam from the previous day still haunting your thoughts. Echo watches you, her expression unreadable.

“Is it even going to work?” she asks, nodding toward the gun.

“It might,” you reply, unwilling to admit just how uncertain you are. “Better to have it and not need it.”

She tilts her head, her mane falling slightly over her eyes. “That’s the plan, huh? Just hope it doesn’t blow up in your hands?”

“It’s all I’ve got,” you say, standing and slinging the rifle over your shoulder. “Unless you’ve got some magic spell to fix it.”

“Nope. Just these,” she says, flaring her wings slightly. “And I don’t think I’ll be pulling off any miracles today.”

The two of you set off, moving cautiously through the forest. The air is thick with the scent of damp moss and decay, and the canopy above casts long shadows that shift with the wind. Echo takes the lead, her wings fluttering occasionally as she navigates the uneven terrain with ease. You follow close behind, your rifle in hand and your eyes scanning for anything out of place.

The forest’s oppressive atmosphere keeps both of you on edge as you walk, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of some unseen creature. The air feels heavier the deeper you go, a constant reminder of how far you are from safety.

Echo slows her pace, glancing over her shoulder at you. “So,” she begins, her tone casual but probing, “you’ve been out here for a while, huh?”

You grunt, your eyes scanning the shadows. “Feels like a lifetime.”

She huffs a small laugh, but there’s something softer in her tone when she asks, “What happened to you?”

You hesitate, the weight of her question settling uncomfortably in your chest. For a moment, you think about brushing her off, but the look she gives you—curious, maybe a little concerned—makes you stop. You sigh, adjusting the rifle strap on your shoulder as you search for the words.

“I got eaten,” you say bluntly.

Echo stops in her tracks, turning to look at you fully. “Eaten?” she repeats, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah,” you say, your tone flat. “By the Crawler. Big, nasty centipede-looking thing. Took me a while, but I managed to get out.”

Her sharp eyes widen slightly, her ears twitching. “You got out?” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “How in Luna’s name did you manage that?”

“Luck,” you admit, brushing past her and continuing down the path. “And stubbornness. Nothing more to it.”

She falls into step beside you, her armor clinking faintly. “That’s…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I don’t even know what to say. Being eaten alive and surviving? I’ve heard of tough stallions, but that’s something else.”

The way she says it makes you pause. “Stallions?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Why’d you say it like that?”

She glances away, her wings shifting uncomfortably. “It’s just… it’s not something we expect from stallions. Surviving something like that. Usually, it’s us mares who—” She cuts herself off, her ears flattening slightly. “Never mind.”

You huff a quiet laugh, the absurdity of it hitting you despite everything. “What, you think I should’ve just curled up and waited to die because I’m a guy?”

Her expression hardens, but not in anger. There’s a faint sadness in her eyes as she looks at you. “No,” she says softly. “I’m just… sad it happened to you. Anypony, really. But to a stallion? That’s…” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “...wrong.”

You let her words hang in the air for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Finally, you shake your head, the corner of your mouth tugging into a faint, humorless smile. “Life’s not fair, Echo. You think the forest cares who it chews up and spits out?”

“No,” she says, her voice quiet. “But it should.”

The two of you fall into silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging between you as you press on. The forest doesn’t give you time to dwell on it for long—its shadows always seem to move, its silence always seems to watch.

By the time the sun begins its slow descent toward the horizon, you find a small clearing that seems safe enough to stop for the night. Echo busies herself with finding fruit while you set up a makeshift camp. The rifle rests at your side, a constant reminder of the danger you’re both in.

When she returns, her saddlebags filled with fruit, she glances at you hesitantly. “I’ll take the first watch,” she offers, her tone softer than usual.

You nod, settling against a tree. “Wake me if anything moves.”

She gives you a faint smile, her sharp features softened by the gesture. “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

For a moment, the forest doesn’t feel quite so hostile.

The next morning comes with a faint chill in the air. The forest is quieter than usual, the oppressive atmosphere still present but subdued, as though the woods are holding their breath. Echo stretches her wings as she rises, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced caution. You sling your rifle over your shoulder, its weight familiar despite its questionable reliability.

“We should keep moving,” you say, breaking the silence.

Echo nods, tucking a piece of fruit into her mouth as she starts walking. “Any idea where we’re going?”

“Out,” you reply. “Preferably somewhere that isn’t trying to kill us every second.”

The underbrush crackles faintly underfoot as you navigate the forest. The air grows warmer as the sun rises higher, its rays piercing the canopy in scattered beams. The relative calm puts you on edge, your hand hovering near the dagger at your side. Echo seems to sense your unease, her ears twitching constantly as she keeps pace.

The feeling that something is watching you creeps up your spine, a subtle tension that you’ve come to recognize in this forest. Echo notices it too, her steps slowing as her wings spread slightly in readiness.

“You feel that?” she asks, her voice low.

“Yeah,” you mutter, scanning the shadows. “Stay close.”

The first sign of movement comes from your right, a faint rustling in the bushes. Then another sound to your left—a soft, almost hesitant crackle of twigs. You stop, raising your hand to signal Echo. She freezes, her keen eyes darting around the clearing.

The rustling grows louder, and then you see them: glowing green eyes piercing through the gloom, accompanied by the faint clatter of wood on wood. Timberwolves.

They emerge slowly, their hulking forms limping into view. At first, your heart races, the memory of their ferocity flashing through your mind. You tighten your grip on the rifle, readying yourself for a fight.

But then you notice something strange.

The wolves aren’t attacking.

Instead, they seem... weary. Their bodies are battered and broken, with jagged cracks running along their wooden limbs. Sap oozes sluggishly from gashes in their bark-like hides, and their glowing eyes lack the sharp malice you expect. One wolf limps heavily, its front leg bent at an unnatural angle, while another drags its hindquarters behind it.

“They’re not here for us,” Echo says softly, her tone uncertain.

The pack moves past you, their movements slow and labored. They don’t spare you a glance, their glowing eyes focused on something unseen as they shuffle through the clearing. One of the wolves pauses briefly, its head turning in your direction. For a moment, you lock eyes with the creature, its glowing gaze filled with an almost haunted exhaustion.

Then it moves on, following the others deeper into the forest.

“What happened to them?” Echo whispers, her voice barely audible.

You shake your head, lowering the rifle slightly. “Something worse than us.”

The forest seems to exhale as the pack disappears into the underbrush, leaving behind only the faint scent of sap and decay. The silence that follows is almost oppressive, a heavy reminder of just how dangerous this place truly is.

“We should keep moving,” you say finally, your voice quieter than usual.

Echo nods, her expression troubled. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

You step forward together, the memory of those battered wolves lingering in your mind. Something in the forest is more brutal than even the monsters you’ve encountered—and it’s still out there.

The forest seems like an endless labyrinth of chaos and danger, but after a week of constant survival, it’s starting to feel almost routine. You’ve fallen into a rhythm with Echo, your instincts sharpening with each encounter. Battle has become second nature—a grim necessity that neither of you questions anymore.

The latest skirmish is no different, though it’s no less harrowing. You swing the radiant dagger in a tight arc, the blade igniting with its familiar, fiery glow. One of the frog-like creatures—a bipedal monstrosity with slick, mucus-covered skin and jagged teeth—hisses as the blade cuts through its arm, the radiant fire searing the wound shut with a sickening sizzle.

“Nice one!” Echo calls, her voice edged with adrenaline. She ducks under a clawed swipe from another creature, spinning and delivering a sharp kick to its knee joint. The creature stumbles, and she follows up with a precise jab of her short blade into its chest.

“You’re getting better at this,” you grunt, slashing at another frog-like beast that lunges for you.

“Better?” Echo says, her wings flaring as she backflips out of reach. “I’ve been carrying you this whole time, stallion. Admit it.”

“Carrying me?” you reply, sidestepping another creature and stabbing it through the chest with the dagger. The radiant fire spreads, consuming the beast as it crumples to the ground. “Pretty sure I just saved your flank. Again.”

Echo laughs, a sound that’s far too casual given the circumstances. She flaps her wings and lands beside you, her blade slick with greenish blood. “You’re cute when you’re all serious like that,” she says, her fanged grin flashing in the dim light.

“Echo,” you warn, not for the first time.

“What?” she replies, feigning innocence as she twirls her blade. “I’m just saying, if this whole ‘grumpy loner’ thing is an act, you’re doing a great job. Really sells the whole package.”

You don’t respond, too focused on the last remaining frog-creature. It’s circling warily now, its bulbous eyes darting between you and Echo. You feint with the dagger, forcing it to commit to a lunge, then sidestep and bury the blade in its back. The radiant fire ignites again, reducing the creature to ash in moments.

“Show-off,” Echo mutters, stepping closer to you.

The clearing is quiet again, save for your labored breathing. The stench of the creatures’ corpses lingers, mixing with the damp, earthy smell of the forest.

“You okay?” you ask, glancing at her.

“Better than okay,” she replies, brushing a bit of muck off her armor. “It’s not every day you get to fight side by side with the grumpiest hero in Equestria.”

“Echo,” you start, but she cuts you off with a playful nudge.

“Relax,” she says, her tone softening. “I’m just messing with you. Mostly.”

You shake your head, wiping the dagger clean on your jacket. “You’ve been ‘messing with me’ a lot lately.”

She smirks, stepping closer. “And yet, here you are. Still keeping me alive. What does that say about you, hmm?”

You don’t answer, too aware of the teasing glint in her eyes. Instead, you turn and start walking, your boots crunching softly on the forest floor.

“Where to next?” she asks, falling into step beside you.

“Wherever this cursed place decides to throw at us,” you reply, gripping the rifle slung over your shoulder.

“And here I thought you’d say something romantic,” Echo quips, her grin widening.

You glance at her, your expression flat. “Not likely.”

She laughs, her wings twitching as she keeps pace. “We’ll see.”

The two of you press on, your footsteps blending with the quiet hum of the forest. The terrain remains as unforgiving as ever, tangled roots and uneven ground forcing you to stay vigilant. Despite the constant tension, you’ve settled into a strange rhythm with Echo—a partnership built on survival, banter, and her relentless teasing.

Every now and then, she glances at you with that mischievous glint in her eyes, like she’s waiting for the perfect opportunity to throw another verbal jab. It’s almost comforting in a way, the banter grounding you both in a world where everything else feels uncertain.

Midday comes and goes, the sun barely penetrating the thick canopy above. The faint light filters through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. You stop to refill your canteen from a small stream, the cool water a brief reprieve from the constant weight of survival.

Echo crouches nearby, inspecting a small fruit-bearing bush. “Think this is safe to eat?” she asks, holding up a cluster of purple berries.

“Don’t look at me,” you reply, wiping your mouth. “I’m not the one who eats fruit exclusively.”

She rolls her eyes. “What, you find me gnawing on a tree and now I’m the expert, huh?”

You smirk faintly, though you don’t let her see it. “Just trying to avoid a repeat of the mushroom incident.”

“That was one time,” she says, popping a berry into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, her ears twitching as she looks at you. “Tastes fine. Try one.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, standing and slinging your rifle back over your shoulder. “If you keel over, I’ll know not to eat them.”

“Charming,” she mutters, picking a few more berries and stuffing them into a pouch.

The afternoon drags as you navigate the endless twists and turns of the forest. Every shadow feels like it’s watching you, and every distant sound sets your nerves on edge. Echo, for all her teasing, stays alert too, her ears swiveling at the faintest noise.

At one point, you stumble across a broken spear shaft lodged in a tree. The wood is splintered, the metal tip long gone. Echo pauses, her gaze lingering on the weapon for a moment.

“Another one of us didn’t make it,” she says quietly.

You nod, brushing past the somber thought. “We’ll keep moving.”

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, and you start scouting for a place to camp. Eventually, you find a relatively clear patch of ground near a rocky outcropping. The rocks provide some cover, and the underbrush is sparse enough to spot anything creeping close.

You build a small fire, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows against the rocks. Echo helps gather what little dry wood she can find, her movements efficient but quieter than usual. The weight of the day seems to have caught up with her.

As you settle down, Echo breaks the silence. “Hey,” she says, her voice softer than usual. “What happened to you… before all this? I mean, how’d you end up in this nightmare?”

You hesitate, the question catching you off guard. The memories feel distant, like they belong to someone else. “It’s… complicated,” you say finally. “I didn’t ask to be here. One day, I was in my house, and then everything was different. Like I just blinked and here I was.” You trail off, the words feeling insufficient.

She tilts her head, watching you carefully. “So, you were just… taken?”

“Yeah,” you say, staring into the fire. “Didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Echo’s ears flick back at your words, and she looks at you with a quiet kind of sadness. “That’s rough,” she says, her voice softer than you’re used to hearing. “You didn’t even get to see her again?”

You blink, confused. “See who?”

She raises an eyebrow, her expression tilting toward sympathy. “Your girl. The one you left behind.”

You hesitate, caught off guard by the assumption. “I didn’t have anyone like that,” you say after a moment, your voice low. “I was alone.”

Echo freezes for a moment, her sharp features softening into something almost vulnerable. “Alone?” she echoes, as if the concept is foreign to her. “But… why? I mean, you’re not… you know.” She gestures vaguely, clearly fumbling for the right words.

“Not what?” you ask, your tone a little sharper than you intend.

She shrugs, her wings twitching slightly. “Not bad-looking. Not useless. Not—well, you’ve got your grumpy moments, but still.”

You laugh, a bitter sound that escapes before you can stop it. “Thanks for the glowing review.”

“I’m serious!” she says, leaning forward. “No friends? No family? Nothing?”

“Had friends,” you admit, poking at the fire with a stick. “Had family, too. But people drift apart. It happens. After a while, it’s just you and whatever you can hold onto.”

Her expression shifts again, sympathy mingling with something else you can’t quite place. “That’s… sad,” she says, her voice quiet. “A stallion like you, just… all on your own?”

You feel a flicker of irritation at the term but push it down. “Not everyone’s looking for that kind of thing,” you say, your voice carefully neutral.

She studies you for a long moment, her eyes sharp but not unkind. Then, with a soft snort, she leans back and stretches her wings. “Well, guess it’s a good thing you’ve got me now, huh? Can’t have you moping around forever.”

“I’m not moping,” you grumble, but the corner of her mouth quirks into a grin.

“Sure you’re not,” she says, tossing a piece of wood onto the fire. The flames crackle and dance, their light reflecting in her eyes. “But don’t worry, I’ll stick around. Keep you from getting too lost in your own head.”

The warmth of the fire doesn’t reach the chill in your chest, but for once, the silence between you feels a little less heavy.

The morning starts as uneventfully as any other, though the forest around you never truly feels safe. The usual sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls seem muted today, as if the woods themselves are holding their breath. You and Echo walk in tense silence, the weight of survival settling heavily on your shoulders.

You glance over at her as she adjusts her battered armor, her movements sharper than usual. She’s been quieter since last night, her usual teasing replaced with a focused determination. It should be reassuring, but something about the quiet makes you uneasy.

You pause to take stock of your surroundings. The trees here are older, their gnarled branches twisting toward the sky. There’s an odd stillness to the air, the kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Instinctively, you take a step back.

The sensation is instant and horrifying.

Sticky, clinging threads press against your back, stopping you cold. Panic surges as you realize you’ve backed straight into a massive spider web, its translucent strands almost invisible in the dappled light. You twist, trying to pull free, but the web’s grip is relentless. The more you struggle, the tighter it seems to hold.

“Echo!” you shout, your voice sharp with alarm. But before you can say more, a flicker of movement catches your eye.

The Weaver emerges, its massive, spectral body shimmering as though it’s not entirely real. Its legs move with eerie precision, flickering in and out of existence as it approaches. Its eyes glint like distant stars, cold and unfeeling, and its fangs drip with a venom that seems to glow faintly.

It strikes faster than you can react.

The bite is sharp, a searing pain that spreads through your shoulder and down your arm. Your grip on the radiant dagger falters, and it clatters to the ground, the faint glow extinguished as it rolls out of reach. The venom’s effects hit almost immediately—your limbs grow heavy, your vision blurs, and your strength begins to drain away.

The Weaver moves quickly, wrapping you in its shimmering silk. The threads tighten around your body, pinning your arms to your sides and making it impossible to move. You try to fight, but the venom is too strong, sapping what little energy you have left.

“Hold on!” Echo’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and urgent.

You hear the clink of her armor as she charges toward you, her wings flaring wide. Her hoof strikes the Wraith with surprising force, sending it skittering back a few steps. It hisses, its body flickering violently, but it doesn’t retreat.

“Don’t you dare die on me!” she growls, grabbing the radiant dagger from the ground. The blade ignites as she presses the button, the radiant fire flaring to life. She lunges at the Wraith, her strikes wild but effective, the blade carving through its flickering form with unnatural ease.

The Wraith screeches, its spectral body recoiling from the radiant fire. It lashes out with its legs, but Echo is relentless, her movements fueled by sheer determination. She swings the dagger again, severing one of its legs. The Wraith shudders, its flickering form dimming as it retreats into the shadows.

As the Wraith disappears, Echo turns her attention to you. Her sharp features soften, though her movements remain frantic as she cuts through the silk binding you. The venom’s effects make you sluggish, your limbs barely responding as she works.

“You’re not allowed to check out on me,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Finally, the last of the silk falls away, and she catches you before you collapse completely. “Stay with me,” she says, her tone softer now. “I’ll figure this out. Just… don’t give up, okay?”

Your vision blurs, but you manage a faint nod. As she drags you toward what little safety the forest offers, the last thing you see is her determined expression, the radiant fire still glowing faintly in her grip.

Echo drags you to a relatively sheltered spot beneath a dense cluster of trees, her movements quick and unsteady as she glances around, her ears flicking at every faint sound. The dagger’s radiant fire has dimmed, its glow reduced to a faint pulse. She keeps it close, her wings twitching nervously as she sets you down against the base of a tree.

“You’re not allowed to die,” she mutters, her voice sharp but cracking with tension. She kneels beside you, her hooves fumbling to examine the bite wound on your shoulder. “Not after all this. Not after… everything.”

You groan, your head lolling to the side. The venom burns through your veins like molten metal, and the weakness in your limbs is overwhelming. “Echo,” you rasp, your voice barely audible. “I think… this is it. Tell… tell them I went down fighting.”

“Oh, don’t you start,” she snaps, glaring at you. “You’re not going anywhere. Not today. You’re just being stubborn.”

You manage a faint smirk. “Yeah… that’s kind of my thing.”

Her expression falters, a flicker of panic breaking through her usual bravado. “What do I even do? I don’t have… medicine, or an antidote, or—” She stops, her voice catching. “Damn it, I should’ve been more careful.”

You chuckle weakly, the sound more like a wheeze. “This isn’t your fault, Echo. It’s… the forest. Always the forest.”

She sits back on her haunches, her wings drooping as she watches you. “I’ve seen this before,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now. “A spider that big… it’s venom's always fatal. Stallions like you don’t make it. You’re too… fragile.”

“Fragile?” you croak, trying to sound indignant but only managing a faint cough. “I’ve survived worse.”

“Sure you have,” she says, her tone bitter. “And yet here you are, all wrapped up and on death’s doorstep.”

“Not a bad place to be,” you mumble. “Quiet… peaceful…”

Her eyes narrow, and she grabs your shirt collar, shaking you slightly. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare give up on me, you stubborn idiot! You—”

“I’m kidding,” you whisper, cutting her off with a faint grin. “Relax, Echo. You’re too pretty to frown like that.”

Her expression shifts, caught between disbelief and anger. “What—are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re dying?”

You let out a weak chuckle. “Why not? Might as well go out swinging.”

She stares at you, her jaw tightening as tears glisten faintly in her eyes. “You… stupid… infuriating… stallion!” Her voice cracks, and she swipes at her eyes with a hoof, turning away.

The hours drag by, the forest around you growing darker and quieter as the night deepens. Echo stays close, pacing restlessly, her sharp gaze scanning the shadows. Every so often, she glances at you, her expression a mix of worry and frustration.

You drift in and out of consciousness, your thoughts hazy but oddly calm. There’s something almost comforting about her presence, her constant vigilance, even as she mutters under her breath about your stubbornness and dramatics.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she says at one point, more to herself than to you. “You’re just… lying there, and I can’t do anything. You’re supposed to be tough, remember? The big, grumpy human with a gun. The one who saved my flank. You can’t just… stop.”

When the first light of dawn filters through the trees, the venom’s effects have begun to fade. Your limbs feel less heavy, and the burning pain has dulled to a faint ache. You blink against the light, your vision slowly clearing.

Echo sits nearby, her wings drooping with exhaustion. She’s been awake all night, her armor scuffed and her eyes rimmed with dark circles. She notices you stirring and rushes over, her expression shifting from panic to relief to anger in the span of a heartbeat.

“You’re alive?” she demands, her voice incredulous. “You’re actually alive?”

“Guess so,” you mutter, your voice hoarse but steady. “Sorry to disappoint.”

She stares at you for a moment, then smacks your shoulder lightly with a hoof. “Do you have any idea what you put me through? I thought you were dead! I was planning how to bury you!”

“Glad I saved you the trouble,” you say with a faint smirk. “Guess I’m tougher than I look.”

She huffs, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you reply, sitting up slowly. “But you didn’t leave me behind.”

Her smile falters for a moment, replaced by something softer. “Of course I didn’t,” she says quietly. “You’re… kind of growing on me, grump.”

Echo smirks as she settles back onto her haunches, brushing a strand of her mane out of her face. The faint light of dawn softens the sharpness of her features, making her expression all the more smug. “So,” she begins, her tone casual but laced with mischief, “about what you said last night…”

You glance at her, frowning slightly as you test your sore limbs. “What are you talking about?”

Her grin widens, and she leans forward just enough to invade your personal space. “You called me pretty,” she says, her voice sing-song and triumphant. “Right before you started playing the whole ‘tragic hero’ routine.”

You groan, rubbing a hand over your face. “I was delirious. You can’t hold that against me.”

“Oh, but I can,” she says, her fangs glinting as her grin grows. “And I will. Honestly, I’m flattered. Didn’t know the grump had it in him to pay compliments.”

“It wasn’t a compliment,” you mutter, glaring half-heartedly at her. “It was a distraction. I thought I was dying, remember?”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You thought you were dying, and the last thing you wanted to do was call me pretty. That says a lot, don’t you think?”

You groan again, shifting to sit upright despite the ache in your muscles. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Oh, I think you are,” she says, sidling closer. Her teasing grin softens slightly, replaced by an almost curious expression. “Admit it—just a little, you meant it.”

You shoot her a glare, but the heat in your face betrays you. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” she counters, her ears flicking playfully. “But hey, we make a good team, don’t we? The impossible and the immovable.”

The silence that follows her words lingers longer than it should, your mind caught on the strange truth behind them. You glance at Echo, watching as she adjusts the straps on her battered armor, her movements fluid and efficient despite the forest’s toll. There’s a confidence in the way she carries herself, a spark that’s undeniable.

And that’s the problem.

You shake your head, standing and grabbing your rifle. She’s not human. What the hell are you doing? The thought hits you harder than you’d like to admit. It’s not like you haven’t encountered strange creatures before, but something about this feels different—more complicated. Dangerous.

“Let’s move,” you say curtly, avoiding her gaze as you check the rifle’s action. The mechanism clicks into place, though you’re not entirely sure it’ll fire when you need it to.

Echo tilts her head, her playful expression faltering slightly. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, her voice softer now. “You’ve been acting weird since last night.”

“I’m fine,” you reply quickly, though your tone betrays you. “Just… trying to figure out the best way to not die today.”

She snorts, her wings giving a brief flutter. “That’s fair, but you’re usually better at hiding whatever’s eating you.”

You glance at her, your grip tightening on the rifle. “I said I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrow, the teasing edge in her tone replaced by something more genuine. “Look, if this is about what I said earlier, you don’t have to—”

“It’s not that,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. Her ears flick back slightly, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “It’s just… complicated.”

Echo doesn’t press further, though you can tell she’s not satisfied with your answer. The two of you start walking, the forest closing in around you once more. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and moss, the shadows long and shifting under the filtered sunlight.

As you move, your thoughts refuse to settle. The way she looked at you earlier—half teasing, half earnest—plays on repeat in your mind. You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, trying not to linger too long on the way her mane catches the light or the way her wings shift with every step.

She’s not human, you remind yourself again, the words almost a mantra now. This isn’t right. You shouldn’t even be thinking about this.

But it doesn’t stop the flicker of warmth you felt when she teased you, or the way your stomach twisted when you realized she wasn’t just joking. She meant it. Maybe not entirely seriously, but enough to make you pause.

You focus on the forest ahead, forcing yourself to stay alert. The dangers of the Everfree are real, tangible, and immediate. You can’t afford to get distracted—not now, not ever.

Yet, even as you push the thoughts away, they linger like shadows at the edge of your vision, refusing to disappear entirely.

The silence between you and Echo grows heavier as the hours pass, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of some unseen creature. She doesn’t press you again, though you catch her watching you occasionally, her expression unreadable.

By the time you stop to rest, the tension between you feels like another weight in your pack. You sit on a fallen log, your rifle resting across your knees as you scan the area for threats. Echo settles nearby, her wings folding neatly against her sides.

“You know,” she says finally, breaking the silence, “whatever’s going on in that head of yours, you don’t have to figure it out alone.”

You glance at her, your expression guarded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs, her gaze drifting to the forest canopy above. “Just saying, we’ve been through a lot together. I don’t know much about humans, but I’m pretty good at listening. If you ever… I don’t know, feel like talking, I’m here.”

Her words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. There’s no teasing in her tone now, no sly grin or playful jab. Just sincerity.

You nod slowly, not trusting yourself to say anything without your voice betraying you. Echo doesn’t push further, simply leaning back against a tree and closing her eyes, her ears twitching faintly as she listens to the sounds of the forest.

As the day stretches on, you find yourself stealing glances at her again. The conflict in your mind hasn’t gone away, but something about her presence makes it feel… less daunting. Almost manageable.

For now, that’s enough.

The forest settles into its usual unnerving rhythm as you sit quietly, rifle balanced on your lap. Echo remains against the tree, her ears flicking now and then as if she’s tuned to a frequency you can’t hear. Her offer lingers in your mind, repeating itself like a half-remembered song. If you ever feel like talking, I’m here.

But what would you even say? How would you explain the knot of unease twisting in your chest? That she unsettles you, not because of who—or what—she is, but because of what she’s starting to mean? You grit your teeth and push the thought aside.

Survival first. Everything else is a distraction.

The hours pass in an uneasy truce between the two of you and the Everfree. The tension between you softens as the day wears on, Echo’s presence grounding you even as your surroundings refuse to offer comfort. She hums a little tune now and then, something soft and lilting, her voice barely above a whisper. You don’t ask her to stop, and she doesn’t offer an explanation.

You keep moving, navigating through dense underbrush and uneven terrain. The forest grows thicker, darker, as though it’s pressing inward. Every now and then, Echo darts ahead, her movements almost graceful despite her battered armor. You lag behind, your pace slower, more methodical, the weight of the rifle in your arms a constant reminder of its precarious functionality.

When you catch up, Echo is perched on a low branch, her wings partially unfurled as she scans the area ahead. She looks back at you, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Finally decided to keep up, huh?” she teases.

You grunt in response, brushing past her. “Just making sure you don’t fly off and leave me behind.”

“As if I’d do that,” she says, dropping lightly to the ground beside you. “You’re the one who keeps me from getting eaten. Can’t lose my favorite grumpy human.”

“Favorite?” you mutter, glancing at her. “How many others have you met?”

She grins, her fangs glinting faintly. “Just you, but that still makes you my favorite.”

You shake your head, muttering something under your breath. She laughs softly, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. For a moment, it’s almost easy to forget where you are.

The forest finally spits you out into a small clearing as the sun dips low in the sky. The air here feels slightly fresher, though the faint hum of insects and rustle of distant movement keeps you on edge. You and Echo set about making camp, your movements practiced after days of repetition.

As you dig through the meager supplies you’ve scavenged, Echo watches you, her expression unreadable. Finally, she speaks.

“So… about last night,” she begins, her tone light but edged with something else.

You freeze, glaring at her. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, but we are,” she says, her grin returning full force. “You don’t get to drop a line like that and just walk away.”

You sigh, sitting down heavily on a fallen log. “I was delirious. I thought I was dying. You said it yourself.”

She steps closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You were out of it, sure, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t honest. What’s wrong with admitting you think I’m—”

“Don’t,” you cut her off, your voice firmer than you intended. “Just… don’t.”

Echo tilts her head, her grin softening into something more curious. “Why does it bother you so much?”

You hesitate, gripping the rifle a little tighter. “It’s complicated.”

“Everything’s complicated with you,” she says, sitting beside you. “You know, I’m not going to bite your head off for saying what you feel.”

“That’s not it,” you say, your voice quieter now. “It’s just… different.”

“Different how?”

You glance at her, the words catching in your throat. How do you explain that it’s not about her but about you—about what it means to feel something in a world that’s turned everything upside down? You shake your head, looking away.

Echo sighs, her wings folding neatly against her sides. “You don’t have to answer now,” she says softly. “But we don't have all the time in the world. You can’t keep running from whatever this is.”

You don’t respond, the weight of her words settling over you like a heavy cloak. The forest around you begins to quiet as night falls, the shadows stretching long and deep. You close your eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

One more night. One more fight to survive. Everything else can wait.

The next day is more walking.

The forest begins to thin, the dense canopy overhead giving way to patches of sky. At first, you don’t notice the change—too focused on putting one foot in front of the other, too weary to care. But then, you catch glimpses of sunlight breaking through the trees, golden beams that touch the ground in ways the Everfree hasn’t allowed in days, weeks—maybe longer.

Echo walks beside you, her steps quieter than usual. The teasing remarks, the quick quips that once filled the oppressive silence, have grown fewer and farther between. You glance at her occasionally, noticing how her gaze lingers on the forest around you, her sharp features softened by a distant, almost wistful expression.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you say, your voice low and rough from disuse.

She looks at you, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Just… thinking.”

“About what?”

She hesitates, her wings fluttering slightly before folding against her sides. “About you. About this place. About everything I’ve seen since I… since I ended up here.”

There’s something in her tone that sets your nerves on edge, a kind of resignation you don’t want to acknowledge. You push the thought aside, focusing instead on the path ahead.

The forest continues to recede, the underbrush thinning and the air growing lighter. Birds sing faintly in the distance, their calls a stark contrast to the oppressive silence you’ve grown used to. You try to take comfort in the signs of normalcy, but there’s an ache in your chest that you can’t quite place.

As the two of you climb a gentle slope, the edge of the forest comes into view. Beyond it lies open fields, bathed in the soft light of a setting sun. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen in what feels like forever, and yet the sight fills you with an inexplicable sense of dread.

Echo stops, her hooves digging into the ground as she gazes at the horizon. You pause as well, turning to look at her.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she takes a step closer to the edge of the forest, her movements slow and deliberate. Her gaze remains fixed on the open fields, her expression unreadable.

“I’m glad I could help you,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Help me?” You frown, stepping toward her. “You saved my life more times than I can count. That’s not just ‘help.’”

She chuckles softly, though the sound is hollow. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

There’s a long pause before she speaks again, her voice tinged with a sadness that cuts through you like a knife. “I just wish… I wish I could’ve found love. Real love. I think I would’ve liked that.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and raw. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come. The realization hits you like a thunderclap, the pieces falling into place as the light catches her in a way that seems… wrong. Too faint, too distant.

Echo’s form flickers faintly, like a candle struggling against the wind. The realization hits you, sharp and cruel, the weight of it dropping into your chest like a stone.

“No,” you whisper, taking a step closer to her. “No, you don’t have to go. We’re almost out of here, Echo. Just a little further, and we’re free.”

Her sad smile softens further, and she shakes her head, her wings folding tightly against her sides. “I was never getting out,” she says, her voice trembling with something between sorrow and acceptance. “I stayed because I needed to. Because you needed me. But now… there’s nothing left for me to protect.”

“You’re wrong,” you say, your voice cracking. You take another step forward, the rifle slipping off your shoulder and landing forgotten in the dirt. “I still need you.”

Her form shimmers again, translucent and fragile. “You’ll be fine,” she says gently. “You’ve always been strong.”

“No,” you snap, your chest tightening as a lump forms in your throat. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to leave.”

Echo’s ears flick back, her expression wavering as she looks at you. “You’ll be okay,” she repeats, her voice barely audible now. “You’re tougher than this forest, tougher than me.”

“Stop,” you plead, your voice shaking as you close the distance between you. “Please don’t do this.”

She looks up at you, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispers, the words trembling in the air. “For reminding me what it meant to care. To feel alive, even if it was just for a little while.”

Her form begins to dissolve, the edges of her body fading into the golden light of the setting sun. Panic grips you, and you reach out, pulling her into an embrace. She feels lighter than air, her warmth fading against you like a memory slipping away.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, holding her tightly, your arms trembling as you feel her disappearing. “Don’t go. Please. I can’t…”

She doesn’t respond. Her form flickers, her warmth fading until you’re clutching at nothing. You drop to your knees, your arms outstretched, clawing at the dirt where she stood as if you can pull her back through sheer force of will.

“Echo!” you shout, your voice raw, the sound reverberating into the vast emptiness around you. The forest doesn’t answer. The world is silent, save for your ragged breaths and the weight of her absence.

You bury your face in your hands, the tears coming unbidden. The gruff exterior you’ve built to survive this hell shatters, leaving you raw and vulnerable. The realization that she’s gone—that she was never meant to stay—cuts deeper than any wound you’ve taken.

For what feels like an eternity, you stay there, your body shaking with sobs that you can’t hold back. She was more than a companion, more than someone who saved your life. She was hope in a place that had none, and now she’s gone.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest floor. You’re left with the fading warmth of the day and the cold, unforgiving reality of the night.

They See What I Made You.

You sit there as the shadows stretch and the forest around you grows colder. The absence of Echo presses against your chest like a weight you can’t lift. The memory of her last smile—the way she looked at you, not as a burden or a monster, but as a person—burns in your mind. It feels unbearable, like the world has lost some vital piece of itself.

Your hands tremble as you wipe at your face, smearing dirt across your cheeks. You can’t stay here. The forest isn’t kind, and the night is coming. You need to move. You need to survive. That’s what Echo would have wanted, you tell yourself, though the thought feels hollow.

Pushing yourself to your feet feels like dragging an anchor. Your legs ache, your body heavy with exhaustion and grief. The rifle lies in the dirt, forgotten in the heat of your desperation. You pick it up, the familiar weight of it grounding you, even if it feels heavier than before.

For a moment, you stand there, staring at the spot where she disappeared. The ground is undisturbed, no trace of her presence. The air feels colder now, empty in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it catches in your throat.

“You’re tougher than this forest,” she had said. The words feel like a challenge and a condemnation, a reminder of the strength she believed in even when you couldn’t.

“I hope you’re right,” you mutter, your voice hoarse.

The forest ahead is quieter than it has been in days. The oppressive hum of unseen predators and the rustling movements in the underbrush have faded into the background. It’s almost as if the forest itself is holding its breath, waiting.

You don’t know how long you walk. The trees blur together, their gnarled shapes twisting in the dim light of the approaching night. Every step feels like a betrayal—of Echo, of the fragile bond you’d formed, of the promise she made to herself to see you through.

Eventually, you spot something through the thinning trees: open ground, bathed in the soft glow of twilight. The forest is ending. The realization sends a shiver through you. For so long, the Everfree has been your world, your prison, and your battleground. What lies beyond feels almost unreal.

But each step toward the edge feels harder than the last. You keep expecting to hear her voice again, teasing you, prodding you to move faster, to keep going. You glance over your shoulder more than once, half-hoping to see her smirk, her fangs glinting as she rolls her eyes at your hesitation.

She’s not there.

The grief wells up again, a tidal wave threatening to drag you under. You stop just shy of the forest’s edge, your hands gripping the rifle so tightly that your knuckles ache. You drop to your knees, unable to hold yourself upright.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I’m so damn sorry, Echo.”

The words hang in the air, unanswered.

When you finally force yourself to rise, the open field ahead feels like a new world—bright, open, and unforgiving in its own way. You step forward, crossing the threshold of the forest, and feel the grass beneath your boots instead of the tangled roots and muck of the Everfree.

The air is different here—cleaner, lighter, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels wrong against your skin, like it doesn’t belong. The absence of the forest’s weight makes the grief sharper, the quiet more unbearable.

You walk, unsure of where you’re going or what you’re looking for. The only thing you know is that you’re leaving the forest behind.

But Echo’s absence walks beside you, a shadow that doesn’t fade with the sunset.

The open savannah stretches out before you, a sea of tall, golden grasses swaying gently in the wind. The air is warm, the sun high overhead, but the brightness doesn’t feel comforting. Instead, it seems to cast everything in sharp, unnatural clarity, making the world feel fragile and unreal.

You step cautiously through the tall grass, each movement deliberate and slow. The rifle hangs loosely at your side, its familiar weight now a comfort more than a tool. The dagger remains sheathed at your hip, a quiet reassurance even as your mind churns with unease.

You thought leaving the Everfree would bring relief, but the oppressive feeling hasn’t lifted. Its lighter, but you still feel the forest’s eyes on you. The silence of the savannah feels too deliberate, the stillness too absolute. Even the wind, soft and warm as it brushes against your face, seems wrong somehow.

Hours pass as you walk, the sun dipping lower in the sky. Eventually, the horizon shifts, revealing the faint outline of a settlement. Buildings, their shapes small and scattered, rise from the grasslands like forgotten relics. Relief flares briefly in your chest, tempered by caution.

As you approach, the details become clearer. The buildings are simple, constructed of wood and stone, their roofs thatched and slanted. The streets are eerily empty, devoid of the usual bustle you’d expect from a town. No voices, no movement, not even the distant sound of hooves against cobblestones.

You stop at the edge of the town, scanning your surroundings. The feeling from the forest hasn’t subsided—in fact, it feels sharper now, like a knife pressed against your thoughts. The silence is thick, almost palpable, and the hairs on the back of your neck rise as you step forward.

The town is deserted.

You walk cautiously down the main street, your boots scuffing against the dirt road. The doors of the houses and shops are closed, but not locked; a light push sends them creaking open. Inside, the rooms are empty of ponies but not of life. Plates sit on tables, beds are made, and tools are scattered in workshops as if the townsfolk simply vanished in the middle of their day.

You glance over your shoulder, the weight of the Everfree still heavy on your mind. It feels like the forest is following you, its shadow stretching beyond its borders and into this place. The air is warm, but a chill settles in your chest, an icy weight that makes your steps falter.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice breaking the oppressive silence. It echoes faintly, unanswered, and you feel the chill spread further.

You push into another house, finding more of the same—abandoned rooms frozen in time. A half-eaten meal sits on a table, the food dried and crusted from days, perhaps weeks, of neglect. The feeling of being watched prickles at your skin, but when you turn, there’s nothing.

“Where is everyone?” you mutter, gripping the rifle tighter.

Your steps lead you to the center of the town, where a fountain stands, dry and cracked, its stone weathered by time. You stand there for a moment, the weight of the silence pressing down on you. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the empty streets.

And still, the feeling doesn’t leave.

It’s as though the Everfree itself has seeped into this place, twisting the air and the light, filling the void with something unseen but suffocatingly present. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, but the feeling only grows stronger.

The eerie stillness of the abandoned town doesn’t stop you from recognizing an opportunity. If no one’s here, then what’s left behind is fair game. You don’t feel good about it—looting feels like a violation—but survival has a way of stripping away moral qualms. Whatever happened to the ponies here, it’s clear they’re not coming back anytime soon.

You move carefully from building to building, scavenging what you can. After hours of searching, you find things that are newer, fresher than anything you'd found in quite some time. The backpack you find in a small general store, tucked under a counter, is a godsend. It’s sturdy, with straps that are only slightly worn, and large enough to hold whatever supplies you can gather.

You move methodically, filling the backpack with everything that might prove useful: dried food that still smells edible, a tin of matches, a small sewing kit, and a couple of flasks of water. The items feel like luxuries compared to what you’ve been living off of. Even a roll of clean cloth, likely meant for bandages, feels like treasure.

In a workshop on the edge of town, you find something that makes you pause. Coiled on a shelf, almost hidden behind a stack of tools, is a length of rope. It’s thick and sturdy, fraying only slightly at the ends. You grab it without hesitation, tying it into a makeshift sling for your rifle. The weight on your shoulder feels right again, the familiarity grounding you in the alien stillness of the town.

The creeping feeling from earlier hasn’t left you, though. It hangs over your shoulders like a heavy blanket, making every shadow seem deeper, every sound sharper. You check over your gear twice, making sure everything is secure, before heading toward one of the larger houses to settle in for the night.

The house you choose is modest but intact. The furniture is old but functional, the air inside heavy with disuse. You clear the room methodically, checking every corner and crevice before locking the door behind you. The bed in the main bedroom is soft compared to the forest floor you’ve grown used to. It’s small, likely built for ponies, but you’re too exhausted to care.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, your pack beside you, a wave of unease washes over you. The town feels too quiet, too untouched, as though it’s waiting for something. You glance at the boarded windows, their edges lined with dust, and grip the rifle tightly. Trusting this place feels like a mistake.

Sleep comes reluctantly. You lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the Everfree still heavy on your chest. The mattress feels almost too soft, the blankets too warm. You close your eyes, the memories of Echo and the horrors of the forest flickering behind your eyelids.

Even in the safety of the town, you can’t escape the feeling that something is watching, waiting, just out of sight.

The night presses on, heavy and oppressive, the silence in the town growing deeper. You wake suddenly, your heart pounding, though you can’t immediately identify why. The room is dim, the faint moonlight filtering through the boarded windows casting long, broken shadows across the floor.

You sit up slowly, gripping the dagger at your side. The radiant blade, your only reliable weapon, feels reassuring in your hand. Your rifle rests against the wall, its presence almost mocking. The jammed and unreliable firearm offers little comfort now.

The quiet isn’t just still—it’s wrong.

The air feels heavy. You listen intently, straining to catch any sound. And then you hear it. A low, guttural growl that vibrates in your chest, coming from somewhere nearby.

You stand slowly, your muscles tense. The growl is followed by the faintest creak of wood, as though something massive is stalking just beyond the thin walls of the house. Your mind races, replaying every story and memory from the forest, trying to identify what this might be. But this growl—it’s new, unlike anything you’ve encountered before.

The sound of heavy claws scraping against stone sends a chill down your spine. You grip the dagger tighter, its weight a small anchor in the growing dread. The beast’s presence is palpable now, its movements slow and deliberate as it circles the house.

The boards covering one of the windows groan under the pressure of something outside. The faint glow of eyes peers through the cracks, their cold, predatory light freezing you in place. The creature huffs, sniffing the air, and your pulse quickens. It knows you’re here.

Without warning, the window shatters, splinters flying as a massive, clawed paw bursts through. The beast doesn’t roar—it’s silent save for the crack of wood and the scrape of claws against the frame. You back up instinctively, gripping the dagger as the beast forces its head through the broken window. Its black fur seems to drink the light, and its glowing eyes lock onto you.

You swing the dagger instinctively, the blade flaring to life as it slices through the air. The radiant fire erupts along its edge, illuminating the room in a bright, holy glow. The beast recoils, its growl turning into a hiss as the light sears its fur.

But it doesn’t retreat.

It lunges, the massive bulk of its body forcing its way into the room. The walls shudder, the wood groaning under its weight as it squeezes through the opening. You backpedal, the radiant dagger your only barrier against the overwhelming presence of the creature.

The beast lunges again, swiping with claws that tear through the bed you’d been lying in moments before. You duck low, slashing at its flank. The blade burns through its fur, leaving a glowing, charred wound. The beast snarls, twisting to swipe at you again.

Its movements are faster than its size should allow. You narrowly avoid the strike, the claws grazing the wall and tearing deep gouges into the wood. You swing the dagger again, aiming for its exposed neck, but the beast twists at the last moment, the blade catching its shoulder instead.

The radiant fire flares brightly, and the beast howls, the sound reverberating through the house. It backs up slightly, shaking its head as though trying to dislodge the pain. You seize the moment to press the attack, driving the blade toward its chest.

The beast swipes again, catching your arm. The force sends you stumbling back, the dagger nearly slipping from your grasp. Blood drips from shallow gashes, the pain sharp and immediate. You grit your teeth, tightening your grip on the blade.

The beast lunges one final time, its jaws snapping inches from your face. You sidestep and drive the dagger upward with all your strength, the radiant fire flaring so brightly it blinds you momentarily. The blade pierces deep into the beast’s side, the fire spreading rapidly through its body.

The radiant fire roars to life, its light swallowing the room in an intense, unnatural glow. The beast lets out a final, guttural shriek as the flames consume it from the inside out. It thrashes violently, crashing into walls and furniture before collapsing in a heap. Its body disintegrates into ash and embers, the fire spreading outward as if hungry for more.

You stagger back, the dagger still burning faintly in your hand, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The radiant fire, now untethered from the beast, begins to creep along the wooden floorboards, igniting the walls and ceiling in moments. You brace yourself for the heat, but it doesn’t come. The flames burn unnaturally cool, casting an eerie, contained light that feels more divine than destructive.

You watch in stunned silence as the fire spreads with purpose, engulfing the house entirely but stopping at its perimeter. The flames lick the edges of the walls, the roof, the floor, but not a spark or ember crosses the threshold. It’s a perfect circle of destruction, as though the fire itself respects a boundary you can’t see.

The house groans under the pressure, the wood cracking and splintering as the fire devours it. You stand in the center, untouched by the radiant inferno, your dagger still warm in your grip. The divine fire doesn’t harm you—it’s as if it knows you’re not its target.

The roof collapses with a deafening crash, sending a shower of embers skyward. You shield your face, the radiant light searing through your eyelids. When the noise settles, you open your eyes to find yourself standing amid ash and rubble. The house is gone, reduced to smoldering remains, and yet you’re unscathed.

The edge of the fire’s reach is clear, the ground outside untouched by its wrath. You step out of the ashes, your boots crunching against the charred debris. The air is still, heavy with the smell of smoke and ozone. The town around you remains eerily silent, the empty streets watching you like an audience to a show they weren’t meant to see.

You glance down at the dagger, its blade pristine and unblemished despite the battle. The button on the hilt seems almost smug in its silence, as if it knows more than it lets on. You shove it back into its sheath, the weight of it pulling at your belt like a secret you’re not sure you want to keep.

The weight of the silence presses on you as the last embers die out, leaving the town eerily untouched beyond the ruined house. Exhaustion pulls at your limbs, and though every instinct tells you to leave, the darkness of the savannah and the unknown dangers lurking there force you to reconsider. You retreat to another house, one further from the scene of the battle. Its door creaks on rusted hinges, but the interior feels sturdy enough.

The atmosphere inside is stifling, dust and the scent of decay heavy in the air. You find a small room near the back of the house, its single window boarded shut, offering a thin semblance of safety. You push a broken table against the door, more for your peace of mind than any real protection. Your body aches, but the real weight is in your mind—the image of the beast’s glowing eyes, the radiant fire consuming everything, and the ever-present emptiness of the town.

Lying on the creaky bed, you clutch the dagger against your chest. The stillness of the room is almost oppressive, but eventually, sleep claims you.

You wake to the faint glow of dawn filtering through cracks in the boards. For a moment, disorientation grips you, the events of the previous night replaying in fragments. You sit up, groaning as the stiffness in your muscles protests.

The house feels no less abandoned in the daylight, but the sense of dread that clung to it has ebbed. You step into the main room, your boots crunching against debris. On the table, something catches your eye: a rolled-up piece of parchment, its edges yellowed and frayed.

Cautiously, you unroll it, revealing a hand-drawn map. The paper is worn but legible, marked with jagged lines representing the surrounding terrain. A faint but clear path winds from the town into the savannah, branching off into what looks like a mountain range in the distance. Other symbols dot the map—strange glyphs, a few scratched-out marks, and what might be settlements or ruins.

Your eyes linger on one section near the mountains. It’s circled in red, the only part of the map with such emphasis. Beside it, a word is scrawled in jagged handwriting: "Haven?"

A thin spark of hope flares in your chest, but it’s quickly tempered by caution. If this map was left here, its creator likely never made it to their destination.

As the morning stretches on, you step out of the house and into the open streets. The sun is rising higher now, casting long shadows across the abandoned town. The silence hasn’t lessened, and every creak of wood or rustle of wind makes you flinch.

With the map in hand and your gear secured, you begin to make your way toward the edge of town. The savannah beyond stretches out like an endless sea of golden grass, the faint line of the mountains barely visible on the horizon.

Despite the brightness of the day, the feeling from the forest hasn’t fully lifted. The sense that you’re being watched lingers, an invisible weight that refuses to leave. You tighten your grip on the dagger’s hilt, its presence a small comfort as you step into the unknown.

The train tracks stretch endlessly into the savannah, a thin, rusted line cutting through the golden grass and winding toward the distant mountains. For days, it’s your guide—a simple path to follow through the wilderness. The map provides only vague reassurance; it’s rough and hastily drawn, and you find yourself second-guessing the landmarks you pass.

The nights are cold, the days blisteringly hot, and the monotony is broken only by occasional encounters with the remnants of the world’s darker side.

On the third day, you face your first challenge. A pack of small, scuttling creatures—roughly the size of large dogs—emerges from the tall grass, their gray, leathery hides shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Their bulbous eyes gleam with an unnatural intelligence, and their long, hooked claws scrape against the rusted tracks as they advance.

Instinct takes over. The radiant dagger burns brightly in your hand as you lunge forward, the blade carving through their sinewy bodies with ease. They hiss and shriek as the light sears their flesh, but they’re persistent, forcing you to retreat to higher ground near a derelict train car. You use the terrain to your advantage, dispatching them one by one until the last of them flees into the grass, leaving you bruised and shaken.

After that, you become more cautious. Every rustle in the grass, every distant growl or screech, sets you on edge. The creatures you encounter seem drawn to you—small abominations that never should have left the forest’s grasp. But they’re here, far from the Everfree’s borders, as if some unseen force has driven them outward.

It’s on the fifth day, after narrowly avoiding a confrontation with a serpent-like beast lurking in a dry riverbed, that the thought strikes you with chilling clarity: The Everfree’s monsters are no longer confined to the forest.

You stop in your tracks, the weight of the realization pressing down on you. For as long as anyone has known, the creatures of the Everfree were bound to its borders, their domain as much a mystery as their origins. But now… now they’re spreading.

The forest’s darkness, its twisted influence, is bleeding into the world beyond.

“Why?” you mutter aloud, your voice hoarse from disuse. The question goes unanswered, the endless savannah offering no insights. You grip the map tightly, your eyes scanning the horizon for the faint silhouette of the mountains. The word circled in red—"Haven?"—is your only hope of understanding.

Each day is a battle. Monsters harry your path, testing your resolve. Some are nothing more than scavengers, their aggression born of desperation, while others are clearly predators, their attacks calculated. Your rifle, unreliable as it is, manages to work sporadically, but you rely on the radiant dagger more than anything.

The monotony of travel gives you too much time to think. The weight of Echo’s loss, the memories of the forest, and the haunting silence of the abandoned town press on you like a stone. The world feels more hostile with each passing day, as if it’s unraveling beneath your feet.

By the time you reach the foothills of the mountains, a full week has passed. You’re exhausted, your supplies running low, but the faint traces of a trail leading upward give you a flicker of hope. The map’s crude markings suggest you’re close to the circled point, and for the first time in days, you feel the faintest glimmer of relief.

As you set up camp near a crumbling stone marker etched with symbols you can’t decipher, a troubling thought creeps into your mind: If the monsters are spreading, what else is coming?

You sit by the small fire, staring into the flickering flames, the dagger resting on the ground beside you. Its pristine blade catches the firelight, a reminder of the battles you’ve fought and the countless questions that remain unanswered.

The Everfree’s curse is no longer contained. And if that’s true, then nowhere—not even this so-called “Haven”—might be safe.

The fire crackles softly, its flickering light dancing across the weathered surface of the crumbling stone marker. The symbols etched into its surface seem to shift and writhe in the dim light, though you chalk it up to exhaustion and your overactive imagination. After a week of endless walking, fighting, and scavenging, your body demands rest, even if your mind refuses to comply.

You lay back against your pack, the radiant dagger within arm’s reach, and let the fire’s warmth lull you into an uneasy sleep.

You’re back in the Everfree, running through endless corridors of trees that twist and close in around you. The ground beneath your feet is soft and wet, like the flesh of the Crawler, and every step sinks deeper. Echo’s voice calls out faintly, but you can’t find her.

Then you’re in the abandoned town again. The buildings loom taller, their windows like black holes swallowing the faint light of the moon. You see the hulking quadrupedal beast again, its glowing eyes watching you from the shadows. It doesn’t attack—it just stares, its presence suffocating. When you turn away, you’re standing in a graveyard filled with familiar names.

Celestia.
Twilight.
Echo.

The gravestones stretch endlessly into the distance, each one etched with moments you wish you could forget. You feel the weight of the rifle in your hands, its barrel cracked and bent, the trigger rusted and useless. When you try to move, the ground gives way, and you’re falling—down, down into a gaping maw lined with jagged wooden teeth.

You wake with a start, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The fire has burned down to embers, casting long shadows across the marker. For a moment, you don’t remember where you are, the weight of the dream pressing heavily on your chest.

The symbols on the marker seem brighter now, faintly glowing in the dark. The sight sends a shiver down your spine, and you quickly avert your gaze. Whether it’s the dreams or the marker itself, something about this place feels wrong.

You don’t sleep again that night.

By the time dawn breaks, the oppressive weight of the marker has only grown. You pack up quickly, eager to leave it behind, and set off toward the mountains. The air feels lighter as you climb, the golden savannah giving way to rocky terrain and sparse vegetation.

The trail grows steeper as the day wears on, but you press forward, driven by the faint hope that the circled point on the map holds some kind of sanctuary. The thought of resting without fear, of seeing another living face, keeps your legs moving despite the ache in your muscles.

And then, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, you see it.

A town.

Nestled in a valley below, its familiar layout sends a jolt through your chest. The thatched roofs, the winding streets—it’s unmistakably Ponyville. But it’s not the Ponyville you remember. A massive purple barrier surrounds the town, shimmering faintly in the fading light. The magical shield pulses rhythmically, its surface dotted with faint runes that hum with energy.

The sight is surreal, like a memory warped into something unrecognizable. The town looks intact, untouched by the chaos you’ve seen elsewhere. But the barrier feels like a warning, a declaration that whatever lies within is not for you.

You stare at the town for a long moment, your emotions a tangled mess of relief, confusion, and dread.

You shoulder your pack and begin the descent into the valley, each step heavy with uncertainty.

The descent into the valley feels endless, your exhaustion weighing heavily on each step. The purple barrier looms larger with every stride, its rhythmic pulse casting faint waves of light onto the grass around it. The closer you get, the more oppressive the barrier feels, its energy pressing against your senses like static electricity.

You reach the edge of the barrier and pause. Up close, the shield hums with a quiet intensity, the runes etched across its surface shimmering faintly. You hesitate for a moment, then raise your hand cautiously and press your palm against it.

The barrier pushes back.

The force is gentle but undeniable, a firm wall that refuses to yield. You try again, harder this time, but the result is the same. A faint ripple spreads across the barrier where your hand touches it, as though it recognizes you but denies entry all the same.

“Hey!” you shout, your voice hoarse from disuse. “Anyone in there? It’s me!”

The Barrier Holds, and For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, movement. Shapes stir within the town—ponies, their figures distorted slightly by the barrier. You see them gather, their silhouettes growing clearer as they approach. One steps forward, and your chest tightens when you realize who it is.

Applejack.

She stands just beyond the barrier, her face shadowed with suspicion. She looks older somehow, her expression hardened in a way you’ve never seen before. Her green eyes narrow as she takes you in, her stance tense and ready.

“What are you?” she calls out, her voice firm and unwelcoming.

“What?” you say, taken aback. “Applejack, it’s me! I—” You pause, realizing how strange this must look. Your clothes are torn and filthy, your face gaunt from weeks of travel. Even your voice feels foreign to your ears after so much time in the wilderness.

She doesn’t lower her guard. “Don’t play games with me. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not him.”

“Applejack, it’s me,” you insist, your voice rising with desperation. “I made it out of the forest. I got Celestia out—remember?”

The other ponies murmur amongst themselves, their voices muffled by the barrier. You see a flash of purple in the crowd and your heart leaps, but it’s not Twilight. Instead, a lavender unicorn with an unfamiliar face steps forward, her horn glowing faintly.

“Don’t trust it,” she says, her voice calm but cold. “We’ve seen things like this before. The Flesh, the skinwalkers—they all play tricks. They use memories to get close.”

You shake your head violently. “I’m not one of them! I’m human! I—” You falter, realizing how impossible it is to prove yourself. The creatures of the Everfree have left their scars on everyone, their deception running so deep that even the truth sounds like a lie.

Applejack steps closer, her eyes searching yours. For a moment, something like recognition flickers in her gaze, but it’s quickly overshadowed by doubt. “If you’re really him,” she says slowly, “prove it. Tell me somethin’ only he’d know.”

Your mind races, grasping at memories. “The day I got Celestia out,” you say, your voice trembling, “you told me… you told me you’d buried me in your heart. You thought I was gone, but you still hoped.”

Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t lower her guard. “That’s a good story,” she says quietly, her voice wavering. “But that don’t prove nothin’. Everypony knows that story by now.”

“I'm not some monster!” you shout, slamming your hand against the barrier. The ripple spreads again, and the ponies flinch back instinctively. “Please. I’ve been out there for weeks. I fought my way here. I—”

Your voice breaks, the weight of everything crashing down on you. “I just want to come home.”

Applejack’s gaze softens for a moment, but the suspicion returns quickly. She turns to the unicorn, who nods once. Together, they step back, their expressions grim. The crowd murmurs, their fear palpable, and the barrier remains unyielding.

You sink to your knees, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The ponies retreat further into the town, their shapes blurring as the barrier pulses once more, leaving you alone at its edge. The silence is deafening, broken only by the hum of the magic that keeps you out.

Frustration boils inside you as the barrier shimmers mockingly in front of you, its purple light reflecting your gaunt, hollowed face back at you. They won’t let you in—not after everything you’ve endured, everything you’ve fought through to get here.

“Let me in!” you bellow, your voice cracking under the strain. You slam your fists against the barrier, the magical field rippling slightly under the impact. “It’s me, damn it! What else do you want from me?!”

Your words echo in the empty plane. The ponies on the other side are gone, their fearful murmurs replaced by an oppressive silence. The barrier stands firm, impassable, and as unyielding as the doubts that cling to you like chains.

The rage consumes you, your fists pounding against the barrier until your knuckles sting. You scream, throwing everything you have at the shimmering wall, but it doesn’t budge. It doesn’t care. Nothing cares.

Finally, the anger collapses in on itself, leaving only exhaustion and grief. You fall to your knees, your head hanging low as the tears come unbidden. You sob openly, the sound raw and unfiltered, your chest heaving as weeks of pain and hopelessness pour out of you.

“You don’t know what I went through,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You don’t know what I lost... who I lost.”

The barrier hums softly in response, indifferent to your despair. Eventually, your cries fade into quiet gasps, and you’re left sitting in the dirt, hollow and spent.

There’s nothing left to do but leave. The path back into the Everfree feels heavier than it did the first time, though the forest greets you with an eerie calm. The familiar shadows and twisted trees seem less threatening, their oppressive presence dulled by your own misery.

The trail to your house is oddly pristine, the underbrush cleared and the path neatly cut as though someone—or something—has been maintaining it. You pause, your instincts flaring, but there’s no sign of movement. Only the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze accompanies you as you continue forward.

When the cabin comes into view, you stop in your tracks. It looks… better than you remember. The porch steps are clean, the boards freshly swept, and the broken windows that you left behind are now replaced or covered with neatly fitted wooden panels. The air around the cabin hums faintly, a reminder of Twilight’s wards, but even they feel stronger, more intact.

Cautiously, you approach the house, your hand resting on the hilt of the radiant dagger. You push open the door, expecting the worst, but the interior is just as immaculate as the outside. The furniture is upright, the fireplace swept clean, and the faint scent of herbs lingers in the air.

It’s unsettling.

You set your rifle against the wall, its broken state a painful reminder of everything you’ve endured. The house, though better than when you left it, feels alien.

Who—or what—has been here? And why?

She’s Not Buying Your Brooding

You freeze, your instincts flaring as you hear a faint creak from deeper within the cabin. It’s unmistakable—someone’s inside. Your hand flies to the dagger at your hip, the familiar weight of the blade grounding you. The tension in the room is suffocating as you scan the shadows, your pulse pounding in your ears.

The wards around the house should have kept anything out—or anyone. That they didn’t is enough to set your nerves on edge.

You take a step forward, your boots barely making a sound on the clean floor. The faint scent of herbs still lingers, too deliberate to be accidental. Someone has been living here, and they didn’t expect you to come back.

“Who’s there?” you call out, your voice low and commanding. No answer.

The shadows in the far corner shift slightly, and you raise the dagger, your muscles coiled like a spring. Another creak—the sound of a floorboard under cautious weight. You step forward, angling yourself toward the source of the noise, ready for anything.

A figure emerges slowly from the darkness, small and unassuming but cloaked in tension. At first, all you see is the outline of a pony—a horn, a disheveled mane, trembling limbs. The figure steps closer, and the dim light catches her face.

It’s Twilight.

Your breath catches, your dagger still raised, as the realization washes over you. She looks like a ghost of herself—her mane tangled and uneven, her eyes red and swollen, her entire body trembling as if she might collapse.

“Twilight?” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, the dagger lowering slightly.

She stares at you, her mouth opening and closing as if she can’t find the words. Her horn glows for a moment before she gasps. Her eyes widen, shimmering with tears that spill over almost instantly. “It’s… it’s really you,” she chokes out, her voice cracking.

You don’t have time to react before she rushes forward, her hooves slamming into your chest as she grabs onto you like a lifeline. “You’re alive,” she sobs, her voice muffled against your shirt. “You’re alive…”

Her body shakes violently as she cries, her sobs raw and unrestrained. It’s not the controlled, reserved Twilight you’re used to—it’s someone shattered, broken by grief and disbelief. She clings to you like she might fall apart if she lets go.

“Twilight,” you say again, the word feeling strange in your mouth. Your free hand hovers awkwardly, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer.

She looks up at you, tears streaming down her face, her voice trembling. “I—I thought you were dead. I saw you—They told me you were gone, that you didn’t make it out of the forest. I—” She breaks off, shaking her head. “I waited. I stayed here. I thought… I thought if I kept the wards up, if I kept it safe, maybe—”

Her words dissolve into another wave of sobs, and this time, you let the dagger drop to the floor. You wrap your arms around her, the motion stiff and unfamiliar but somehow right. Her tears soak into your shirt, and you stand there, holding her as the weight of everything that’s happened crashes down on you both.

For the first time in what feels like forever, the oppressive loneliness you’ve carried eases—just a little.

But Twilight doesn’t let go.

Her hooves grip you tightly, as if loosening them even slightly might cause you to disappear. Her trembling form presses against yours, her sobs quieting but her breathing still ragged and uneven. You try to shift slightly, your back aching from standing so rigidly, but she only clings tighter.

“Twilight,” you murmur, your voice low. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She looks up at you, her eyes still wet and swollen, her expression a raw mix of relief and disbelief. “You don’t… you don’t understand,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I waited so long. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Her words hit harder than you expect, a knot forming in your chest. You’re not used to this—this kind of openness, this level of attachment. You’re used to keeping your distance, to letting people go, to moving on. But now… now it’s different.

“I’m here,” you say again, softer this time. “It’s okay.”

She doesn’t respond, just buries her face against your chest. Her horn brushes your collarbone, her mane tickling your chin. You stand there for what feels like hours, the weight of her grief and relief settling over you both.

When she finally speaks again, her voice is muffled. “You can’t leave again.”

“I’m not planning to,” you reply, though the words feel strange. You’ve always been a loner, just you and your house. But now? Now it feels like you’ve been tethered to something—or someone.

She finally pulls back, just enough to look up at you. Her hooves remain pressed against your chest, her eyes searching yours as if trying to confirm you’re real. “You promise?”

The raw vulnerability in her voice makes your throat tighten. You nod, your hand hesitantly brushing against her shoulder. “I promise.”

Her lip trembles, and she presses herself against you again, her grip unyielding. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

You sigh, though there’s no frustration behind it. “Twilight, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by your shirt. “Because if you do, I’m coming after you.”

Her words might’ve sounded funny if not for the sheer determination behind them. You shake your head slightly, a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Duly noted.”

She doesn’t let go, even as the minutes stretch on. When you try to move, she follows, sticking to you like glue. If you so much as shift your weight, her grip adjusts to match, her hooves gripping your arm or shoulder like a lifeline.

“You’re really not going to let go, are you?” you ask, your tone dry.

“Nope,” she says firmly, her voice steadier now but still tinged with vulnerability. “You’ll just have to get used to it.”

You glance down at her, at the determined set of her jaw and the lingering redness in her eyes. There’s no arguing with her—not that you have the energy to try. You sigh again, adjusting your stance so she’s more comfortable.

“Fine,” you mutter, though there’s no edge to your voice. “But don’t blame me if I step on your hooves.”

She huffs, her grip tightening. “Deal.”

The moment you step toward the bedroom to find clean clothes, Twilight follows, her hooves clicking lightly on the floor behind you. She’s so close you can feel her breath, warm against your side. You glance back, raising an eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything—just keeps walking, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on you.

When you reach the room, the realization of how utterly wrecked your clothing is hits you again. The rags hanging from your body aren’t much more than threads, fraying and torn in too many places to count. You sigh and start peeling off the ruined fabric, muttering under your breath about needing to scavenge something better soon.

Twilight doesn’t leave.

You pause halfway through removing your shirt, turning slightly to give her a pointed look. “Twilight,” you say slowly, “can I have a little space?”

She blinks, tilting her head. “Why? I’ve seen you shirtless before.”

The nonchalant tone catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to argue, but she cuts you off.

“Besides,” she continues, her voice softening as her gaze lowers slightly, “I need to be here. I can’t… I can’t let you out of my sight again.”

Her words are calm, but there’s something in her tone—a quiet, almost desperate edge that makes your chest tighten. You lower your shirt, staring at her. “Twilight, you’re acting like something’s about to happen. We’re fine now. We’re safe.”

Her ears flatten against her head, her eyes glistening faintly. “You don’t get it. I was right there. I saw it happen.” Her voice trembles slightly, her hooves shifting uneasily. “You fought for me. You got eaten because of me.”

You frown, the memory of the forest clawing its way back to the surface. “Twilight, that wasn’t your fault.”

“It was,” she says firmly, stepping closer. “It was my fault. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve protected you. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

Her words throw you, and you find yourself staring at her, trying to make sense of what she’s saying. “Twilight, that’s not—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” she interrupts, her voice growing steadier but no less intense. “You’re going to say it wasn’t my responsibility, or that you didn’t need protecting. But you did. And I failed. I failed you, and I can’t—” She breaks off, her voice cracking. “I can’t let that happen again.”

You run a hand over your face, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “Twilight, we’re both alive. That’s what matters.”

Her gaze sharpens, and she takes another step closer, her intensity almost palpable. “You’re alive because you’re strong. Because you didn’t give up. But I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve stopped it before it happened. I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

You reach out hesitantly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She flinches slightly at the contact but doesn’t pull away. “You didn’t fail me, Twilight.”

“Yes, I did,” she whispers, her eyes locking onto yours. “And I won’t do it again. I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy and unyielding. There’s a fierceness in her expression, a kind of devotion that feels almost overwhelming. You search for the right words to say, but nothing comes. She’s not angry—she’s something deeper than that. A mix of guilt, desperation, and something else you can’t quite place.

You clear your throat awkwardly, breaking the tension. “Well, if you’re going to stick around, maybe you can help me find something that doesn’t make me look like I’ve been fighting monsters in a swamp.”

Twilight doesn’t respond to your attempt at humor. Instead, her eyes flicker briefly to the small pile of shredded clothing you’ve accumulated, and she steps even closer, her presence pressing like a weight you can’t ignore.

You shove the thought aside, grabbing a clean shirt from the stack and pulling it on quickly. The silence between you feels heavier than before, and as you glance around the room, something about it catches your attention.

It’s pristine.

The bed is made, the floor swept, and the shelves neatly organized—far neater than you ever left it. Even the cracks in the walls and the broken windows seem patched or repaired. The house had been in good condition when you last saw it, but now? It’s practically spotless.

“Twilight,” you begin, frowning as you turn back to her. “Did you… fix up the place?”

Her ears twitch slightly, and she doesn’t meet your eyes. “I might’ve done some cleaning,” she admits softly, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

You narrow your eyes, gesturing around the room. “This isn’t just cleaning... you’ve been living here, haven’t you?”

She finally looks up, her gaze searching yours for something you can’t quite identify. “It was all I had left of you,” she says simply.

Her words hang in the air, heavy and raw, as Twilight’s eyes dart away from yours, filled with a nervous energy. She fidgets with her hooves, a faint flush of color creeping into her cheeks.

“I just thought…” she begins, her voice soft, halting. “I thought if I kept it just right, if I didn’t let anything go to ruin, maybe…” She trails off, her ears folding flat against her head as she takes a shaky breath. “Maybe you’d come back.”

You blink, her words sinking in like stones in water. “Twilight, that’s not how—”

“I know,” she interrupts quickly, her voice rising slightly before she reins it in, looking almost embarrassed. “I know it sounds… silly. But I didn’t have anything else. The wards, the house—it gave me something to hold onto. Something that wasn’t…” Her voice falters, her expression crumbling.

She lets out a shaky exhale. “Every day, I told myself, ‘Just keep it ready. Just keep it safe. He’ll come back.’ And every day, I thought, ‘What if today’s the day?’ I couldn’t stop.” Her gaze flicks to you, filled with a fragile sort of hope. “And then… you did.”

Her words tug at something deep in your chest, a tangled mix of guilt and gratitude you don’t know how to untangle. You lean against the wall, crossing your arms as you look at her.

The room feels smaller somehow, the air heavy with her words. You glance around, taking in the pristine condition of everything—the repaired windows, the perfectly arranged furniture, the way even the smallest details seem deliberately placed.

Her dedication wasn’t just about cleaning or maintenance. It was obsession. Desperation.

“What would you have done?” you ask suddenly, the words leaving your mouth before you fully think them through.

Twilight looks at you, her ears flicking slightly. “What?”

“If I hadn’t come back,” you clarify, your voice quieter. “What would you have done then?”

Her expression shifts, her gaze dropping to the floor. She doesn’t answer right away, the silence stretching between you. When she finally speaks, her voice is trembling, fragile.

“I don’t know,” she admits, barely above a whisper. “I… I tried not to think about it. But when I did…” She swallows hard, her wings twitching at her sides. “I told myself I’d keep the wards up. I’d keep the house safe. I’d protect what was left of you. Even if it was just an empty house.”

Her confession lingers in the air, raw and unsteady. Twilight’s voice quivers, but her gaze meets yours with an intensity that feels unshakable.

After a long silence, you shift the conversation, gesturing toward the general direction of Ponyville. “The barrier… it kept me out. What’s the deal with that?”

Her ears flick nervously, and she straightens slightly, her posture becoming more rigid. “The barrier is designed to protect Ponyville,” she says carefully. “It uses the crystal we recovered from beneath the castle. Its energy is ancient and powerful, so I integrated it into Ponyville with some runework.”

You frown, trying to piece together her explanation. “Runework?”

Twilight nods, her tone growing steadier as she explains. “I carved specific runes into the foundation of the barrier. They’re designed to prevent any otherworldly or corrupted entities from entering. It recognizes when something doesn’t belong here.”

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach twist. “So… I couldn’t get in because I’m from another world.”

Her silence speaks volumes, her expression guarded.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” you press. “The barrier kept me out because it thinks I don’t belong.”

Twilight winces slightly, her wings shifting uneasily. “It’s not personal,” she says quickly. “The barrier doesn’t judge—it’s just reacting to what it senses. You’re… different. Otherworldly. The runes don’t distinguish between threats and non-threats. They just detect what’s not supposed to be here.”

Your shoulders slump slightly as the realization settles in. “So, even after everything, I still don’t belong.”

“No!” she says sharply, her voice cutting through the air. “That’s not true. I can let you in. The runes can be adjusted to make exceptions, but it has to be done manually.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Manually? You mean you have to physically go to the runes?”

She hesitates, her gaze darting away. “Yes,” she admits, her voice quieter now.

“And where exactly are these runes carved?” you ask, watching her closely.

Twilight stiffens, her nervous energy suddenly palpable. “They’re… uh…” She pauses, her hooves shifting against the floor. “They’re carved into the statue at the center of town.”

You narrow your eyes at her sudden hesitation. “What statue?”

Her reaction is almost imperceptible, a flicker of something—guilt? Fear?—crossing her face. “It’s not important,” she says quickly, her words tumbling over each other. “What matters is that I can make the exception for you. You won’t have to worry about the barrier anymore.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you say firmly, stepping closer. “What’s so special about the statue, Twilight?”

She backs up a step, her wings partially flaring as though she’s caught off guard. “It’s… just a focus for the barrier,” she says, her voice growing quieter. “It’s where the energy is channeled. That’s all.”

You don’t believe her. There’s something she’s not telling you, something heavy and unspoken. But the way her gaze flickers away from yours, the way her ears droop just slightly, tells you this isn’t the moment to push further.

Instead, you let out a long breath, crossing your arms. “Fine,” you say, your tone edged with frustration. “If it means I can get into Ponyville, then we’ll deal with it. But don’t think I didn’t notice you dodging the question.”

Twilight exhales shakily, her tension easing just slightly. “I’ll make the exception,” she says softly. “I promise.”

Her words are sincere, but the weight of her secrecy lingers between you, a shadow that refuses to dissipate.

Twilight’s hesitation is palpable as the two of you approach the edge of Ponyville. The faint shimmer of the barrier comes into view, its translucent, purple-tinged surface reflecting the morning sunlight. You pause a few steps away, staring at the magical boundary that had stopped you cold just a bit ago.

Twilight slows, her hoofsteps faltering as you get closer. Her wings twitch at her sides, and her gaze flicks between you and the shimmering dome. There’s a tension in her body, a reluctance that feels almost tangible.

“Alright,” you say, stopping just shy of the barrier. “This is as far as I can go. You said the runes are on the statue, so go do your thing.”

Twilight doesn’t move. Her eyes lock onto you, and she shakes her head, her ears flattening. “I don’t want to leave you out here.”

You frown, gesturing to the open space around you. “Twilight, it’s broad daylight. I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re not inside the barrier,” she says, her voice wavering slightly. “What if something comes? What if something tries to—”

“Twilight,” you interrupt, your tone firm but not unkind. “We’re right at the edge of town. I’ve been through worse, and you know it. I can handle myself for a few minutes.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. Her hooves shift uneasily, and her wings flutter as though she’s physically trying to shake off her anxiety. “I just… I don’t want to take that chance,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not after everything.”

You sigh, running a hand over your face. “Then what’s your plan? Drag me to the statue with you? Pretty sure the barrier would have something to say about that.”

Her gaze drops, her ears twitching. “No, I just… I thought…” She trails off, clearly struggling to articulate her thoughts.

“I’ll be fine,” you say again, your voice softening. “You said it won’t take long, right? Go make the exception, and I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

Twilight doesn’t respond immediately. She looks at you, her violet eyes filled with a storm of emotions—fear, guilt, and something else you can’t quite name. Finally, she nods, though the motion is hesitant.

“Okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “But… don’t go anywhere. Please.”

You nod. “I won’t.”

She steps closer, her magic flaring briefly as she adjusts her saddlebags. For a moment, it looks like she’s about to say something else, but then she shakes her head and turns toward the barrier. With a flick of her horn, she steps through the shimmering surface, the magic parting around her like water.

You watch her go, the tension in your chest rising as the barrier seals itself behind her. Even with her reassurance, the sight of her leaving you here, alone and outside, feels strangely unsettling.

You grip the hilt of the radiant dagger at your side, scanning the open space around you. The day is calm, the air warm and still. But something about the silence feels wrong. It’s not like the forest’s oppressive quiet—it’s the kind of silence that makes your skin crawl, peaceful.

Minutes pass, each one dragging on longer than the last. You find yourself pacing, the weight of the barrier at your back and the vastness of the open savannah ahead gnawing at your nerves. It doesn’t take long for frustration to bubble up, but you force yourself to stay put.

“She’ll be back,” you mutter to yourself, gripping the dagger a little tighter. “She’ll be back.”

But as the minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity, the unease in your chest begins to grow.

You pace nervously, your boots crunching against the dusty ground as you try to push the gnawing unease out of your mind. The barrier’s faint shimmer seems to press against your back like an unwelcome presence, its static-like hum buzzing faintly in your ears. Every so often, you glance toward it, half-expecting something to emerge—whether it’s Twilight or a mob of angry ponies.

The minutes crawl by, stretching into what feels like an endless limbo. The static hum fades slowly, like a radio signal being tuned out, leaving behind an unsettling quiet. You pause mid-step, frowning. The change is so subtle you almost miss it, but now the absence of sound feels more oppressive than the noise ever did.

Your grip tightens on the dagger at your side, your fingers brushing over the smooth, pristine hilt. The silence settles heavily around you, the vastness of the savannah stretching endlessly ahead. You glance back at the barrier again, a flicker of doubt creeping into your mind.

And then she’s there.

Twilight bursts through the barrier, her sudden presence startling you. Her mane is disheveled, and her chest rises and falls rapidly as though she’s just run a marathon. The look in her eyes is one you’ve seen before—a mix of desperation, fear, and overwhelming relief.

She freezes for the briefest moment, her gaze locking onto you as if she can’t quite believe you’re still standing there. Her lips part, a shaky breath escaping, and then she’s moving again.

“Y-you didn’t leave,” she stammers, her voice trembling. “I thought—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, her hooves wrapping tightly around you in a fierce, almost crushing hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here,” she whispers, her voice muffled against your chest. “I thought I took too long, that you’d leave, or something would—”

“Twilight,” you interrupt gently, placing a hand on her back. “I told you I’d wait.”

Her grip tightens, her hooves trembling slightly. “But what if you didn’t? What if you changed your mind? What if—” She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t lose you again.”

Her words hang in the air, and you feel a sharp pang of guilt. But alongside it, there’s something else—a growing discomfort. The way she clings to you, the sheer intensity of her need to be near you, it’s not just relief. It feels like she’s gripping onto you as if you’re her lifeline, and it’s starting to feel like too much.

You gently disentangle her hooves from around your waist, stepping back just enough to give yourself some breathing room. She looks up at you with wide, glistening eyes, and the way she tilts her head slightly makes your chest tighten, but you push through the unease.

“Twilight,” you start, keeping your voice calm but firm, “I appreciate the sentiment, really. But you’re… acting like I was gone for years.”

Her ears flatten slightly, and she fidgets with her hooves. “It felt like years,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

You rub the back of your neck, sighing. “Look, I get it. We’ve been through a lot, and yeah, things got bad. But I’m here now. I made it back. You don’t need to—” You hesitate, searching for the right word. “—hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” she says quickly, her tone defensive. But the way she inches closer again suggests otherwise.

You give her a look, part exasperated and part concerned. “Twilight, you’ve been glued to my side since I got here. I get that you’re glad I’m alive, but this isn’t… normal.”

She flinches at that, and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. Her gaze drops to the ground, her ears twitching nervously. “I just… I don’t want to lose you again,” she says quietly. “I can’t.”

Her vulnerability makes you pause. You cross your arms, shifting your weight awkwardly. “You’re not going to lose me,” you say, trying to soften your tone. “But you can’t act like I’m going to disappear the second you look away.”

She looks up at you, and there’s something desperate in her expression. “You don’t understand,” she says, her voice trembling. “I thought you were gone. I thought I’d never see you again. I waited and waited, and every day I told myself I was stupid for hoping. But then you came back. You came back. How am I supposed to—” She cuts herself off, biting her lip.

“Twilight,” you say gently, stepping closer again. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done. But you need to let me breathe.”

She nods slowly, but there’s a hesitation in her movements that makes you wonder if she really understands. Her eyes dart toward the barrier and then back to you. “I just… I need to know you’re safe,” she says finally. “I’ll try to give you space, but… don’t expect me to leave.”

You sigh again, running a hand over your face. “Fine,” you say. “Just… dial it down a bit, alright?”

She nods again, her expression still uncertain but a little more subdued. As you both step through the now-open barrier together, she walks close—too close—but you let it slide. For now.

The moment you step past the barrier and into Ponyville proper, you’re met with silence. The town looks worn but alive, the signs of a struggling yet persistent population evident in the repaired roofs, patched walls, and cautious movement of its residents. For a brief moment, you feel relief—until the silence is broken.

The guards.

They come from every direction, heavily armed, their armor dented and worn but still functional. Their faces are grim, eyes sharp as they fan out around you in a tight circle. Spears are leveled, and magic glows faintly at the tips of their horns.

"Don’t move!" one of them barks, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air.

You freeze, your hands instinctively going to your sides, palms open. “What the hell is this?” you mutter under your breath, glancing at Twilight. She’s right beside you, her expression shifting from surprise to something far more dangerous.

“It’s me,” you say firmly, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m not—”

“Quiet!” the guard interrupts, his eyes narrowing. “We know your tricks, monster. You’re not fooling us.”

“Monster?” you repeat, incredulous. “Do I look like a monster to you?”

Your arms spread out in a half-hearted gesture, as if showcasing yourself: the awkward, lanky human in a land of brightly colored ponies. You glance down at your hands, your mismatched clothes, and let out a rueful chuckle. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

The guards don’t lower their weapons. If anything, they seem to tense further, their focus shifting as if waiting for you to reveal some hidden danger.

Twilight steps forward, her horn glowing faintly as she places herself between you and the nearest spear. “Stand down,” she says, her voice sharp. “He’s not a monster.”

The guard hesitates, his spear wavering slightly. “How do you know?” he demands. “The Flesh and the Skinwalkers—they mimic everything. It’s not him, Twilight. It can’t be.”

“It is,” she says firmly, her magic sparking brighter. “I cast twenty-seven different identification spells the first time I saw him. Twenty-seven. He’s human. He’s real. And he’s him.”

You blink, turning to her. “You did what?”

She glances at you, her expression softening briefly. “I had to be sure,” she says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You stare at her, your mouth opening and closing as you process the information. “You didn’t think to tell me that?”

“I was a little busy making sure you weren’t going to turn into some eldritch abomination,” she replies dryly, though there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “You’re lucky I didn’t notice, or we’d have had a very different conversation.”

“Are you two serious right now?” the guard interrupts, his tone incredulous. “This isn’t some domestic spat. That thing—”

“He’s not a thing,” Twilight snaps, turning on the guard with a ferocity that makes him step back. “And if you doubt me, then maybe you should ask why he looks so familiar.”

The guards exchange uneasy glances, their gazes flickering between you and something further down the street. You follow their line of sight, confusion turning into stunned disbelief.

The statue.

It’s unmistakable. Standing tall in the town square, the figure is undeniably you—or at least, a version of you. The details are striking: the rifle slung over one shoulder, the other hand held out, palm up, as if offering something to the world. Above the hand floats a huge crystal, glowing faintly, casting a soft light over the worn stone.

“What the hell is that?” you whisper.

“It’s you,” Twilight says quietly, her voice almost reverent. “After you saved Celestia. After you saved me. They thought you died. We thought you died. The crystal that forms the barrier comes from the Everfree, the one you retrieved. It was you that allowed us to escape with it, and now it protects them.”

The weight of her words settles over you like a crushing force. You stare at the statue, at the idealized version of yourself, and feel something twist in your gut.

“Great,” you mutter, your voice thick with sarcasm. “I get turned into a monument and then accused of being a monster when I come back. Fantastic.”

Twilight places a hoof on your arm, her touch grounding. “They’re just scared,” she says softly. “Give them time.”

You glance at her, seeing the earnestness in her eyes, and let out a long breath. “Fine. But if one of them calls me ‘it’ again, I’m going to lose my shit.”

The guards, still uneasy but clearly convinced by Twilight’s words, lower their weapons slowly. The tension lingers, but the immediate threat dissipates.

You take one last look at the statue, its glowing crystal seeming to pulse faintly in the twilight, and follow Twilight into the town.

Twilight is practically bouncing as the two of you walk through Ponyville, her hooves clicking on the cobblestone streets with an almost musical rhythm. Her enthusiasm is a stark contrast to the guarded, watchful stares of the townsfolk, who still seem uneasy about your presence despite Twilight’s reassurances.

“And then,” she continues, her voice rapid with excitement, “we could go to the observatory! I’ve been meaning to show you the new telescope. It’s incredible—you can see the Mare Imbrium so clearly! Oh, and after that, we could visit the market. They just started selling this new tea blend that I think you’d like.”

You nod absently, your eyes scanning the streets. The ponies you pass give you a wide berth, their expressions ranging from cautious curiosity to outright suspicion. It’s not exactly the warmest reception, but you’re getting used to it. At least Twilight’s enthusiasm hasn’t waned.

“And when we’re done, I was thinking we could head back to the library. I’ve got a whole stack of books I’ve been saving for you—stuff about the Everfree, human myths, that sort of thing. I even found a collection of survival guides! Not that you need them, obviously, but it might be interesting, right?”

“Sure,” you mutter, your tone distracted. Twilight doesn’t seem to notice.

“And then—oh!” She stops suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “We could try baking something! I’ve been practicing, and I think I finally perfected that apple tart recipe. Or maybe something simpler, like muffins?”

You glance at her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re planning all of this out, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” she says, her voice brimming with excitement. “I’ve been thinking about it for weeks! I kept making lists of all the things we’d do when you came back. It’s been so long since—” She cuts herself off abruptly, her expression faltering for just a moment before she plasters on a bright smile. “Anyway, we’ve got so much to catch up on!”

You stop walking, turning to face her. “Twilight, slow down,” you say gently. “You’re throwing a lot at me all at once.”

Her ears flick back, and she bites her lip. “I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been waiting for this. For you. I thought about all the things we could do together while I was… while I was waiting for you to come back. I wanted it to be perfect.”

The raw emotion in her voice makes your chest tighten. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Twilight, you don’t have to try so hard. I’m here now. That’s what matters.”

She brightens at your words, her smile returning full force. “You’re right. I just… I can’t help it. I’m so happy you’re here.”

The weight of her words settles over you, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. She’s been through so much, waiting for you, clinging to the hope that you’d return. And now that you’re here, she’s throwing herself into making up for lost time.

But you can’t ignore the unease simmering beneath the surface. The way she clings to your arm just a little too tightly. The way she looks at you with an intensity that feels almost overwhelming. You’ve seen what desperation can do, and after everything with Echo…

You shake the thought away, focusing on the present. “Let’s just take it one step at a time, okay?”

Twilight nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “One step at a time,” she repeats. “Got it.”

As the two of you continue walking, her chatter picks up again, a steady stream of ideas and plans for the days ahead. It’s almost enough to distract you from the lingering tension in your chest. Almost.

Back at the library, she sets a pot of tea to boil, her magic flickering as she moves about the kitchen with practiced ease. She’s humming softly, her mood brighter than you’ve seen in days. You settle into one of the chairs, letting the familiar warmth of the library wash over you.

“So,” she says, setting the tea tray on the table with a flourish. “I was thinking… maybe tomorrow we could go for a walk around the barrier. You know, just to see how everything’s holding up.”

You nod, taking a sip of the tea. It’s good—fragrant and calming. “Sure. That sounds fine.”

Twilight hesitates, her hoof tracing circles on the table. “And… maybe afterward, we could—” She stops, her cheeks turning pink. “I mean, if you’re okay with it, we could—um, never mind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Twilight?”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes meeting yours with a determination that makes your stomach twist. “What if we made it a… a date?”

The words hang in the air like a lead weight, their meaning sinking in before you fully process them. Your first instinct isn’t excitement or curiosity—it’s defense. Your grip tightens around the mug in your hands, your jaw clenching as you sit up straighter in your chair.

“A date?” you echo, your voice sharper than you intend. You set the mug down a little too forcefully, the soft clink against the table loud in the sudden silence.

Twilight flinches slightly, her ears flicking back. “I-I just thought…” she stammers, her earlier confidence evaporating in an instant. “It’s just… I mean, we’ve spent so much time together, and you came back, and—”

“I didn’t come back for… that,” you interrupt, your voice low but firm. The memory of Echo’s final moments flashes through your mind—her fading form, her quiet desperation, and the crushing weight of your helplessness. “Twilight, I don’t think you understand. This isn’t… I’m not…”

You trail off, unable to put the swirling thoughts into words. How do you explain the ache in your chest, the fear gnawing at your edges? The thought of opening yourself up to that kind of pain again feels impossible.

Twilight takes a hesitant step back, her hooves shuffling against the floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she says quickly, her voice wavering. “I just… I thought you might feel the same way.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. She looks vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen, her big eyes searching yours for something—anything—that might soften your response. But the walls you’ve built around yourself are too thick, too tall, and the thought of letting them down terrifies you.

“Twilight, I can’t,” you say finally, your voice rough. “I can’t give you what you’re asking for.”

She flinches again, but her gaze doesn’t waver. “Why not?” she asks softly. “Is it because of me? Because I’m not human?”

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that. It’s just…” You run a hand through your hair, frustrated with yourself as much as anything. “I’ve already lost someone. Someone who… meant a lot to me. And I can’t—” Your voice catches, and you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I can’t go through that again.”

Twilight’s expression softens for a moment, her lips curling into a knowing smile as if she’s already seen this play out in her mind. “Oh, here we go again,” she says, her voice dry but tinged with a teasing edge. “The ‘I’m too broken to love’ speech. Classic grumpy human material.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, sitting up straighter and crossing her forelegs like she’s preparing for a lecture. “You’re so predictable,” she says, her tone light but with a sharp edge. “I mean, really. ‘Oh, no, Twilight, I can’t possibly be happy because I’m too busy wallowing in my tragic backstory.’” She waves a hoof vaguely, her expression shifting to mock seriousness. “‘My pain is so deep, so profound, that I must protect you from the terrible curse of my affection.’”

“That’s not what this is,” you shoot back, your voice defensive.

“Oh, really?” She raises an eyebrow, her tone growing sassier. “Because it sounds a lot like, ‘Woe is me, I’m too damaged to care about anyone, so I’ll just push everyone away and act like it’s for their own good.’”

Your jaw tightens, her words striking closer than you’d like. “You don’t know what it’s like,” you mutter, looking away.

“Don’t I?” she counters, stepping into your line of sight. “I thought you were dead, remember? I spent weeks blaming myself, thinking I failed you, thinking I’d never get to see you again. And now you’re here, standing right in front of me, acting like I should just accept that you’re unreachable because you’ve decided it’s safer to stay miserable.”

“That’s not fair,” you say, your voice low.

“Fair?” she echoes, her voice softening just enough to let the hurt shine through. “What’s not fair is you coming back and acting like you’re the only one who’s scared. I get it. You’re hurting. But guess what? So am I. And I’m still here. Still trying.”

You stare at her, the weight of her words pressing down on you. She’s not wrong, and that’s what makes it so hard to argue. The silence stretches between you, heavy and loaded, before Twilight speaks again.

“Look,” she says, her tone softer now, “I’m not asking you to fall head over heels for me. I’m not asking for anything except for you to let me be here. Let me help you carry the weight, because you’ve been carrying it alone for too long.”

You run a hand through your hair, the tension in your chest refusing to let up. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit quietly.

“You don’t have to know,” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You just have to try. And, you know… maybe stop being so dramatic about it.”

You let out a huff of reluctant laughter, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” she quips, her smile growing. “But I think we make a good team.”

The faint flicker of warmth in her tone catches you off guard, and despite yourself, you find a small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe,” you concede, your voice soft. “But I’m still not going on a date.”

“Not yet,” she says with a grin, her confidence creeping back. “But you’ll come around. I’ve got time.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Of course,” she says, stepping back with a playful flick of her tail. “That’s why you like me.”

You groan, but the tension in the room feels a little lighter now.

Twilight’s words linger as the room settles into a quieter rhythm. She busies herself with the kettle, humming softly, the confident flick of her tail making her seem completely at ease. You watch her out of the corner of your eye, trying to piece together the tangle of emotions left in the wake of her words.

It’s not that you don’t care. You do—more than you’d like to admit. But the weight of everything that’s happened feels too immense to share, too jagged to risk passing onto someone else. And yet, her sass, her persistence, her refusal to let you retreat entirely… it’s familiar. Comforting, even. You’d missed it more than you realized during those moments when she treated you like glass about to shatter.

“Do you ever quit?” you ask, your tone grudgingly amused.

“Not when I’m right,” she quips, not even turning to look at you. “Which is most of the time, in case you were wondering.”

You shake your head, leaning back in your chair. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re predictable,” she shoots back over her shoulder. “It’s like you’ve got a script in your head. ‘Be grumpy, avoid feelings, brood in a corner.’ Really, I could write your lines for you.”

“Could you?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” she says, finally turning to face you, a grin tugging at her lips. “For instance, right now you’re thinking, ‘Wow, Twilight is so annoyingly right, but I can’t admit that, so I’ll just sit here and look grumpy instead.’”

You snort, shaking your head. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

“Oh?” Her eyes glint with playful curiosity. “Then what are you thinking?”

“That you talk too much,” you say, though there’s no heat in your words.

Twilight laughs, a bright, genuine sound that fills the room. “And yet, you haven’t left. Which means, deep down, you like that I talk too much.”

“Sure,” you mutter, leaning forward to grab your mug. “Let’s go with that.”

Her laughter softens into a smile, and she moves to sit across from you, her gaze lingering on your face. “You know,” she says, her tone quieter now, “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t come back.”

You glance at her, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean… after everything, you had every right to leave. To find somewhere else. To just… disappear.” She pauses, her ears twitching slightly. “But you didn’t. You came back. And I think that means something, even if you’re too stubborn to see it.”

Her words strike a chord you’re not ready to address, so you take a long sip of your tea instead. Twilight doesn’t push further, but her smile lingers, soft and knowing, as if she’s already won a battle you didn’t realize you were fighting.

You glance at her and sigh. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” she replies with a smirk, tilting her head. “Admit it.”

You don’t answer, but the faint warmth in your chest says more than you’d like.

Author's Note

Twilight when the grumpy human refuses her after she practiced convincing him 17 times in the shower:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rb1oBp5oEM8

You Don’t Deserve This.

Twilight’s smug grin persists as she stands and stretches, her wings fluttering slightly. “Alright,” she says, her tone bright again, “enough brooding for one day. Come on, time for bed.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Bed? It’s not even late.”

“It is for you,” she counters, already heading toward the stairs. “You’ve been through a lot, and you need rest. Doctor’s orders.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not a doctor.”

“Not yet,” she quips, tossing a look over her shoulder. “But I’m well-read.”

You sigh, setting your mug down and reluctantly following her. “You really need to stop micromanaging me.”

“Not happening,” she chirps as she reaches the loft. She stops by the bed and pats the mattress with a hoof. “Now, come on. In.”

“Twilight,” you groan, standing at the bottom of the stairs. “We’ve talked about this. I’m fine on the couch.”

“And we’ve also talked about how it’s ridiculous for you to sleep on that lumpy old thing when I have a perfectly good bed right here,” she retorts, her horn lighting up. Before you can protest further, a magical aura surrounds you, and you find yourself floating—light as a feather—toward the bed.

“Twilight!” you snap, flailing your arms uselessly as you’re deposited onto the soft mattress. “Cut it out!”

She smiles sweetly, tucking the blankets around you with precise, magical efficiency. “Just getting you comfortable.”

You glare at her, trying to sit up, but she nudges you back down with a hoof. “Seriously, Twilight, this is weird.”

“What’s weird about it?” she asks innocently, climbing into the bed on the other side. “Ponies share beds all the time. It’s completely normal.”

You squint at her. “Is it, though?”

“Absolutely,” she says with a nod, her tone a little too confident. “It’s a cultural thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

You groan, flopping back against the pillow. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” she counters, her grin widening as she pulls the blanket up to her chin. “Goodnight.”

You don’t bother replying, instead staring at the ceiling and trying to will away the awkwardness. Her presence next to you is both irritating and… oddly comforting. The steady rhythm of her breathing eventually lulls you, and before you know it, the tension in your shoulders eases, and sleep begins to creep in.

The next morning, the smell of something surprisingly appetizing drifts through the library. It stirs you awake, and for a moment, you think it’s a dream. Twilight’s cooking had always been… enthusiastic, but rarely edible. Still groggy, you shuffle downstairs to find her levitating plates of golden-brown pancakes, their surface dotted with fresh fruit. She hums a little tune, a bright smile lighting up her face.

“Good morning!” she chirps, placing the stack of pancakes on the table with a flourish.

You glance at the food skeptically. “Are these… safe?”

She rolls her eyes, setting down a bowl of syrup. “I’ve been practicing. You’re not the only one who’s been through things, you know. Besides, I had to get it right while keeping your place ready. It felt… important.”

There’s a weight behind her words that you don’t address, but it lingers as you take a cautious bite. To your shock, the pancakes are good. Really good.

“You didn’t burn these,” you mumble through a mouthful, earning an unamused look.

“That’s the bar we’re setting now?” she quips, taking a seat across from you. “I’ll have you know, I followed a recipe.”

You swallow, nodding grudgingly. “Not bad.”

Her grin widens. “I’ll take it.”

The two of you eat in a comfortable quiet, but as you finish your plate, Twilight’s subtle scheming begins.

“So,” she starts casually, floating your jacket over to you, “it’s such a nice day out. Perfect for a walk.”

You narrow your eyes. “Uh-huh. And?”

“And,” she continues, not missing a beat, “I thought we could stretch our legs, get some fresh air, and, oh, I don’t know… head into town?”

Your brow furrows. “What’s in town?”

She grins, far too innocently. “Oh, nothing special. Just… errands.”

The next thing you know, you’re standing in a bright, sterile office. The faint buzz of drills in the background sets your teeth on edge, and the minty smell of antiseptic fills your nose. A cheerful mare in a lab coat is staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

Twilight stands beside you, radiating confidence. “He’s here for a cleaning and check-up,” she says briskly. “And possibly more. He’s been in the Everfree for quite a while.”

The dentist—Dr. Smile Shine, her name tag reads—looks between the two of you, her expression wavering between polite professionalism and barely concealed horror. “I see,” she says, motioning for you to sit in the chair.

Reluctantly, you comply, glaring at Twilight as she beams at you. “This wasn’t part of the walk,” you mutter.

“Consider it an upgrade,” she replies smoothly, taking a seat nearby.

The examination starts innocently enough. Dr. Smile Shine pokes around your mouth with her little mirror and tools, making small noises of concern. Then she freezes. Her eyes widen, and she pulls back, glancing at Twilight.

“I… don’t think I’ve ever seen this much… damage,” she says carefully. “There’s a significant amount of decay, likely from a lack of proper care and nutrition. Are those canines? Some teeth are—oh, my goodness, is that a chip? Multiple chips?”

You glance at Twilight, whose smug expression falters into one of barely contained guilt. “He was in the Everfree,” she says quickly, as if that explains everything.

Dr. Smile Shine sighs. “We’ll need to use restoration magic. This is… quite the project.”

The next hour is a blur of glowing tools, faint buzzing sounds, and the occasional hum of magical energy. When it’s over, your mouth feels better than it has in months. Your teeth are smooth, the aching pain gone.

Dr. Smile Shine wipes her forehead with a hoof. “All done. You’re lucky we could fix it all with magic. Without it, you’d have needed extensive work.”

“Great,” you say dryly, standing up. “Can we leave now?”

Twilight nods quickly, already settling the bill at the counter. You frown as you watch her hand over bits. “I could’ve paid for that, you know.”

“With what?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t have bits.”

“That’s not the point,” you grumble. “I don’t like you paying for me.”

Twilight tucks the receipt into her saddlebag, her expression calm but her tone firm. “That’s what mares do for their stallions. It’s normal.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I’m not your stallion.”

Her ears flick, and a sly smile curls her lips. “Not yet.”

You glare at her, but she doesn’t flinch. “Twilight, I’m serious. I don’t want you spending your bits on me.”

She sighs, her smile softening. “I know you don’t, but I want to. You’ve been through enough, and you deserve a little care. It’s not a big deal—at least not to me.”

“It is to me,” you counter, your tone firm. “I can take care of myself.”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze steady and thoughtful. “I know you can,” she says quietly. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Let me help, okay? Just this once.”

You want to argue further, but there’s a sincerity in her voice that makes it hard to push back. With a resigned sigh, you mutter, “Fine. Just this once.”

Twilight beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Good. Now, how about that walk?”

The air outside is fresh and crisp, the golden afternoon sun casting long shadows over Ponyville’s cobbled streets. Twilight leads the way toward the barrier, her gait light and cheerful. You follow reluctantly, still grumbling under your breath about her paying for the dentist.

As the two of you approach the shimmering edge of the magical barrier, the faint hum of its energy becomes more noticeable. Twilight glances at you, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Isn’t it amazing? The barrier’s runes were adapted from ancient crystal magic. It’s incredibly efficient at repelling external threats.”

You nod absently, your attention more focused on the way the barrier distorts the scenery beyond it, like a heat mirage. “Efficient enough to keep me out, apparently.”

Twilight winces, her ears folding back briefly. “That was… an oversight. The enchantment wasn’t calibrated for… friendly otherworldly beings.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Friendly, huh? That what you’re calling me?”

Her cheeks flush slightly, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, you did save me. More than once, actually. I’d say that qualifies as friendly.”

“Debatable,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

Twilight trots a little closer, her wing brushing against your side as she walks. “You know,” she starts, her tone lighter, “it’s nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t get overwhelmed by my explanations.”

You glance at her, catching the faint blush on her cheeks. “Is that your way of saying I’m good at pretending to listen?”

She laughs, the sound bright and genuine. “Maybe. Or maybe it's just nice not being cut off for once.”

“Probably the first one,” you reply dryly, though a small smile tugs at your lips.

The walk continues in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic sound of your steps blending with the distant chatter of ponies in the town. Twilight occasionally points out small details about the barrier or the surrounding area, her enthusiasm infectious even if you don’t fully understand everything she’s saying.

Eventually, she pauses, her gaze distant as she looks out toward the Everfree Forest. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” she says softly. “How something so dangerous can still look so… peaceful from a distance.”

You follow her gaze, your expression unreadable. “Looks can be deceiving.”

She nods, her tone thoughtful. “True. But sometimes… it’s worth looking closer. You might find something worth holding onto.”

Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re unsure if she’s talking about the forest—or something else entirely. You glance at her, but she doesn’t meet your eyes, her attention fixed on the horizon.

The rhythmic crunch of dirt underfoot fills the space between you as you walk the barrier’s perimeter. Twilight chatters occasionally, her words ranging from magical theory to idle observations about Ponyville. You offer the occasional grunt or nod, only half-listening. Your thoughts are somewhere else, tangled in the sight of the faintly shimmering barrier and what it represents.

You’ve walked this path before, seen the statue that’s become a centerpiece of the barrier’s magic. A caricature of heroism, you think bitterly. The towering figure of you, holding the massive crystal aloft in one hand while your other hand grips your old rifle slung over your shoulder, feels more like a mockery than a tribute. It’s not that you didn’t earn it—you did. But the ponies who once stared at you with distrust now only view you as an artifact, a symbol. Not as a person. Not like Twilight does.

“You’re quiet,” Twilight says, her voice cutting through your thoughts. She tilts her head to look at you, her expression curious but soft. “What’s on your mind?”

You shove your hands into your pockets, staring straight ahead. “Nothing.”

“Uh-huh,” she says knowingly, her tone light. “Nothing doesn’t usually look that grumpy.”

You sigh, your gaze flicking briefly toward the barrier. “It’s just… that statue. The barrier. All of it. It doesn’t sit right.”

Twilight frowns, her ears swiveling back slightly. “Why not? It’s meant to honor you.”

“Honor me?” You let out a short, humorless laugh. “The ponies barely tolerated me when I was here. Most of them still don’t. That thing isn’t for me—it’s for them. A reminder of what I did so they don’t have to think about who I am.”

Twilight stops walking, her hooves digging into the dirt. “That’s not fair.”

You stop too, turning to look at her. “Isn’t it? Even now, they’d rather think of me as some kind of mythical hero than deal with the fact that I’m just… me.”

Her eyes search yours, and for a moment, she looks like she’s going to argue. But then her expression softens, her wings shifting slightly at her sides. “You’re right,” she says quietly. “Most ponies don’t know you. Not really. But that’s their loss.”

You blink, caught off guard by her agreement. “You’re not going to lecture me?”

She smiles faintly, stepping closer. “I could. But I think you’ve had enough of that for one week.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the barrier’s faint hum filling the air around you. Twilight’s gaze drifts toward the statue in the distance, and then back to you. “You’re more than what they see,” she says softly. “You always have been.”

You huff, shaking your head. “You’re the only one who seems to think so.”

“Well,” she says with a teasing lilt, “I like to think I have pretty good taste.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward despite yourself. “Thanks, I guess.”

She beams, taking that as a victory. “You’re welcome. Now, come on. The barrier won’t walk itself.”

She starts trotting ahead, her tail flicking playfully as she glances back at you. You shake your head, falling into step beside her. The tension from earlier lingers, but her presence makes it a little easier to bear.

As the two of you continue along the path, Twilight’s chatter picks up again, her voice bright and animated. And though you don’t say much, you listen a little more closely this time.

The walk has grown quieter as Twilight’s tone softens, her words more measured. The slight brush of her side against your arm feels deliberate, and her glances linger a little longer than they need to. You can feel the shift—her carefully chosen words, the nervous flick of her tail, the way her voice grows warmer when she speaks your name. She’s working up to something, and you’re already bracing for it.

“So,” she begins, her voice light but carrying an undertone of meaning, “I was thinking… we’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

You side-eye her, already suspicious. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Her ears twitch, and she looks down, pretending to kick at a stray pebble with her hoof. “I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who literally fights through the Everfree to save you.”

You grunt, not sure where she’s going with this but not thrilled with where it seems to be headed.

“And, you know,” she continues, her tone almost shy now, “I think that kind of bond… means something. Don’t you?”

You open your mouth to respond—though you’re not sure what you’d even say—when a familiar drawl cuts through the moment.

“Well, ain’t this somethin’.”

Both of you turn to see Applejack approaching, her hat tilted low and her expression a mix of sheepishness and resolve. “Didn’t expect t’ run into y’all out here.”

Twilight’s ears flatten slightly, her tail giving a sharp flick. “Applejack,” she says, her voice holding a note of forced patience. “What a… surprise.”

Applejack nods, her gaze shifting to you. “Ah was hopin’ I’d see ya. Wanted to… well, apologize.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Apologize?”

“Yeah,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck with a hoof. “For leavin’ ya outside the barrier that first time. When ya showed up.”

Twilight tenses beside you, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Applejack—”

Applejack holds up a hoof, cutting her off gently. “Ah know what yer gonna say, Twi. And ah know it don’t make it right. But let me explain.”

She turns back to you, her green eyes steady but filled with regret. “When ya first came back, we didn’t know what t’ think. We’ve had so many critters and monsters from the Everfree tryin’ to trick us, pretendin’ to be somethin’ they’re not… Ah thought ya might be one of ‘em. Ah didn’t think ya were real.”

You cross your arms, the memory of that day flashing through your mind. Standing outside the barrier, the ponies on the other side watching you with suspicion, some with fear. And Applejack’s voice, firm and unyielding, telling you to stay back. Even now, it stings.

“I get it,” you say after a moment, your voice low. “You didn’t know. You did what you thought was right.”

Applejack nods, her jaw tightening. “Ah did. But that don’t mean it didn’t hurt ya, and fer that, ah’m real sorry. Specially after what ya did fer the Crusaders. Savin’ them from the… flesh.” Her voice catches slightly, and she glances away. “Ya saved my sister, and ah didn’t even give ya the benefit of the doubt.”

You shrug, your tone clipped. “It’s fine.”

Applejack flinches slightly, clearly not convinced. “Ah just wanted ya to know… it wasn’t personal. Ah was tryin’ to protect everypony.”

“It’s fine,” you repeat, though the tightness in your chest betrays the words. “I get it.”

Applejack studies you for a moment, then nods slowly. “Ah appreciate that. And… if there’s anythin’ ah can do to make it up t’ ya, ya just say the word.”

You nod curtly, your gaze shifting away. “Yeah. Sure.”

Applejack tips her hat, her expression still tinged with guilt. With a final glance at Twilight, she turns and trots off down the path, leaving the two of you alone again. The air feels heavier now, and you shove your hands deeper into your pockets, staring at the dirt as you walk.

Twilight clears her throat, breaking the silence. “You know,” she begins, her voice cautious but pointed, “when stallions say ‘it’s fine,’ it usually means it’s anything but.”

You glance at her, frowning. “I said it’s fine.”

“And I’m saying I don’t believe you,” she counters, her tone soft but firm. Her gaze sharpens as she steps closer, her head tilting slightly to catch your eye. “You’re hurt, and it’s okay to admit that. You don’t have to brush it off.”

You let out a short laugh, bitter and low. “What good would admitting it do? It’s not like it changes anything. She was right to be cautious.”

Twilight huffs, clearly frustrated. “Maybe, but that doesn’t make it less painful. You fought for them—for all of us—and they didn’t trust you. That’s not fair.”

You stop walking, your hands curling into fists in your pockets as you turn to face her. “Of course it’s not fair, Twilight. But that’s how it is. I don’t fit here. I never did. The only reason I’m even allowed in is because of you.”

Twilight’s ears flatten, and her jaw tightens. “You shouldn’t have to feel like that. You’ve done more for this town than most ponies ever will.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, your voice dropping. “They see me as a threat. Or a tool. Nothing in between.”

She steps closer, her expression fierce. “I don’t see you that way.”

You look at her, startled by the intensity in her voice. She holds your gaze, her violet eyes filled with something you can’t quite place. It’s enough to make your chest tighten, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say.

“You’re not just some outsider,” she continues, her voice softening. “You’re… you. And that means something. To me, at least.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. You glance away, the weight of her gaze too much to hold. “Thanks,” you mutter, your tone awkward. “But it doesn’t change how they see me.”

“Maybe not,” she says, her voice resolute. “But you’re wrong about one thing—you’re not just allowed here because of me. You’ve earned your place, whether you see it or not.”

You don’t reply, the knot in your chest tightening as you start walking again. Twilight falls into step beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance even as your thoughts churn.

The walk ends near the edge of Ponyville, where the path winds back toward Twilight’s library. Twilight seems reluctant to break the silence, her gaze flicking toward you every so often. Finally, she stops, her hoof scuffing the ground nervously.

“I have to go,” she says, her tone heavy with reluctance. “There’s… something I need to take care of at the library. It won’t take long.”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “You sound like you’re leaving me with a babysitter.”

She frowns. “I just—look, it’s not like that. I just don’t like the idea of you wandering around alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reply, your voice a little sharper than you intend. “I’m not going to trip over my own feet or get lost.”

Twilight hesitates, her ears flattening slightly, but she finally nods. “Okay. But stay out of trouble, alright? I’ll meet you back at the library.”

With one last worried glance, she trots off, leaving you standing alone at the edge of town. You sigh, shoving your hands into your pockets as you start to wander.

The statue looms in the town square, its polished surface catching the sunlight and reflecting a distorted image of the sky. You stop a fair distance away, hesitating before stepping closer. It’s strange, seeing yourself immortalized in stone, larger than life. It feels hollow. Wrong.

Your gaze shifts as you notice a small figure sitting near the base of the statue. Applebloom. She’s staring up at the statue, her eyes wide and somber. There’s something about her expression—equal parts awe and sorrow—that makes your chest tighten.

You approach quietly, keeping your distance. “What’s so interesting about a pile of rock?” you ask, your voice low but steady.

Applebloom startles, turning slightly but not enough to see you. “Ain’t just a pile of rock,” she says defensively. “It’s him.”

“Him?” you echo, feigning ignorance.

“The human,” she replies, her voice soft. “The one who saved me. Saved all of us, really.” Her ears droop slightly. “Ah thought maybe if ah came here, it’d feel like he’s still around. But it don’t.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, leaning casually against a nearby lamppost.

“‘Cause he’s gone,” Applebloom says, her voice breaking slightly. “He’s gone, and ah never got t’ thank him proper. Didn’t even know him, really. He saved me, and ah didn’t even know his name.”

You hesitate, the weight of her words settling over you. “Maybe he was just too dumb to think it through,” you say finally. “Probably just acted before realizing how bad of an idea it was. Doesn’t make him some kind of legend or anything.”

Applebloom turns her head slightly, still not looking at you. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“I’m just saying,” you continue, your tone dry, “maybe he wasn’t some noble, selfless guy. Maybe he was just kind of an idiot who jumped in without thinking and somehow didn’t get himself killed.”

“That’s a load of horseapples!” Applebloom snaps, whirling around to face you. “Ya don’t know nothin’ about—”

Her words catch in her throat as her eyes widen. Recognition washes over her face, her jaw dropping slightly. “It’s… you.”

You sigh, standing straighter. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Applebloom stares at you, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words. Then, suddenly, her expression twists into outrage. “What in tarnation is wrong with ya?” she demands, stomping her hoof. “Yer alive, and ya didn’t tell nopony? Do ya have any idea what that did to me? To all of us?”

You hold up your hands, taken aback by the outburst. “I didn’t exactly have time to send a memo, kid.”

“Time?” she echoes, her voice rising. “Ya had time to stand here makin’ smart remarks! But not enough time to let me know yer not six feet under? Ah’ve been sittin’ here thinkin’ about how ya saved me—risked yer life fer me—and ya couldn’t even bother t’ tell me yer okay?”

Her eyes glisten, and her voice wavers, the anger giving way to something more fragile. “Ah thought… ah thought ya were gone. Like, really gone. And ah didn’t even get to say thank ya. Ah… ah didn’t—”

Her words break off, and the first tear rolls down her cheek. She sniffs, trying to hold it together, but it’s like a dam breaking. Before you know it, she’s crying in earnest, her shoulders shaking with the effort to contain the sobs.

You freeze, completely unprepared for this. “Hey, uh… don’t… cry,” you say awkwardly, glancing around as if someone might magically show up to help. “It’s not a big deal.”

Applebloom glares at you through her tears, her voice breaking. “Not a big deal? Ah thought ya were dead, ya big dummy! How’s that not a big deal?”

You wince, the guilt settling heavy in your chest. “Look, I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t know anyone would care that much.”

That makes her stop for a moment, her tears pausing as she stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Didn’t think anypony would care?” she repeats, her voice thick with disbelief. “Ya saved me! Ya saved everypony! Course we care!”

You shift uncomfortably, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m just saying—”

“Don’t ‘just say’ nothin’!” Applebloom snaps, her tear-streaked face hardening into a fierce glare. “Ya keep talkin’ like ya don’t matter, like it’s no big deal, and it’s downright frustratin’! Do ya even hear yerself?”

You open your mouth, but she doesn’t give you a chance to respond.

“Yer sittin’ here actin’ like ya didn’t do somethin’ amazin’. Like savin’ me and mah friends was just some kinda accident!” She stomps her hoof again, her frustration bubbling over. “Well, ah ain’t buyin’ it! Yer brave, even if yer too stubborn t’ see it!”

“I’m not brave,” you mutter, your voice low. “I just… did what needed to be done. Anyone else would’ve done the same.”

“Horseapples!” she fires back, her eyes narrowing. “Most ponies woulda turned tail and run! But you didn’t. You fought, even when it looked like ya might not make it. That’s somethin’, whether ya like it or not!”

Her words hit harder than you want to admit, and you glance away, the knot in your chest tightening. “Look, kid, I appreciate it, but I’m not some big hero. I just got lucky.”

“Lucky or not, it doesn’t matter!” she insists, stepping closer. “Yer here now, and ya made a difference. So stop actin’ like yer nothin’, ‘cause t’ me, yer somethin’.”

You don’t know what to say, her fierce determination catching you off guard. Before you can figure out a response, her expression shifts, a spark of excitement lighting up her eyes.

“Wait right here!” she says suddenly, spinning around. “Ah gotta go get Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle! They’re gonna wanna see ya!”

Panic sets in as the prospect of two more tearful reunions looms over you. “Uh, that’s really not necessary—”

But she’s already galloping off, her voice carrying over her shoulder. “Don’t move! Ah’ll be right back!”

You take a single step back, glancing in the direction she ran, then in the opposite direction. The square feels way too open now, and the last thing you want is to get mobbed by more emotional ponies.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you mutter under your breath, turning on your heel and briskly walking away.

By the time you’re clear of the square, your pace has quickened into a light jog. You don’t stop until you’ve put a good distance between yourself and the statue, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. Leaning against a wall, you take a moment to collect yourself.

“Why can’t things ever be simple?” you grumble, running a hand through your hair.

The answer doesn’t come, but the faint sound of Applebloom’s distant voice calling for her friends spurs you into motion again.

You head straight for the library, your pace quickening as you near the familiar tree. The quiet, the books, the solitude—it’s exactly what you need right now. The idea of being surrounded by more ponies, their gratitude and emotions spilling over, makes your chest tighten. You push the door open, stepping inside and letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Surprise!”

The deafening shout explodes around you, lights flashing and movement all around. Your heart leaps into your throat as your brain floods with alarm. The world blurs in an instant, and before you can think, instinct takes over.

You’re back in the forest. The air is heavy, the shadows alive. Something moves—too close, too fast. You react.

Your hand flies to the nearest object, gripping the wooden back of a chair. Without hesitation, you hurl it toward the sudden movement, adrenaline surging as your other hand finds the familiar hilt of your dagger. The blade springs free with a press of the button, radiant flames licking the edge as you raise it.

“Whoa!”

A voice of lies, a mimic? All you see is motion—a shape—and all you hear is the pounding of your heartbeat.

Before the chair can hit its mark, a purple aura envelops it, freezing it midair. “Stop!” Twilight’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and commanding.

The room snaps back into focus. Ponies. Streamers. A banner that reads, We Totally Thought You Were Centipede Chow, But Welcome Back!

Your grip on the dagger tightens, the radiant flames still flickering. The chair floats harmlessly in Twilight’s magical grip, her eyes wide and her horn glowing brighter as she stares at you. The other ponies, a dozen or so faces, are frozen in shock, their cheerful smiles replaced by wide-eyed fear.

“Put it down,” Twilight says, her voice steady but gentle now. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. The word echoes in your head, breaking through the fog. Your breathing slows, the tension in your shoulders easing as the realization of what just happened crashes over you. Slowly, you lower the dagger, the flames extinguishing as you deactivate it.

“Sorry,” you mutter hoarsely, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Twilight repeats, setting the chair down gently as she steps closer. Her movements are slow, deliberate, like she’s approaching a wounded animal. “It was just a surprise party. Pinkie thought it’d be a nice way to welcome you back.”

Pinkie Pie, standing near the table with a tray of cupcakes balanced on her back, looks stricken. Her poofy mane seems to deflate slightly as she whispers, “I just wanted to make you smile…”

Guilt churns in your stomach as you glance around the room. Ponies who had been ready to cheer are now huddled together, whispering nervously. You rub the back of your neck, the weight of their stares pressing down on you.

“I… I need some air,” you say, your voice tight. Without waiting for a response, you turn and push your way back out the door, the cool breeze hitting your face like a splash of water. You keep walking, your hands trembling as you shove them into your pockets.

The door creaks open behind you. “Wait,” Twilight says, her hooves crunching softly against the grass as she approaches. She stops a few feet away, giving you space. “You don’t have to go. No one’s mad at you.”

You shake your head, unable to meet her eyes. “I can’t… I didn’t mean to scare them. I just—”

“You reacted,” Twilight interrupts, her voice firm. “That’s all. You’ve been through more than most ponies can even imagine. It’s not your fault.”

Her words are kind, but they don’t lessen the knot in your chest. “They’re scared of me now.”

“They’re not scared of you,” Twilight insists. “They’re scared of what happened, sure. But they’ll understand. Just give them time.”

You glance back at the library, the muffled sound of Pinkie’s voice inside as she tries to rally the partygoers. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” you mutter.

Twilight steps closer, her expression softening. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” she says. “No one expects you to.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Feels like they do. I can see it in their eyes. They’re not looking at me—they’re looking at what they think I am. What they want me to be.”

Twilight frowns but doesn’t interrupt. You glance up at the sky, the breeze carrying the faint hum of the barrier in the distance. “I don’t even know how to explain it. Back in the forest… it was hell. Don’t get me wrong, I hated every second of it. But it was… simple.”

“Simple?” Twilight echoes, her tone laced with confusion.

“Yeah.” You shove your hands into your pockets, scuffing your shoe against the dirt. “In there, everything was straightforward. Survive or don’t. No one staring at me like I’m something I’m not. No ponies putting me on some pedestal I don’t belong on. Just me, trying not to get eaten.”

Twilight looks at you, her violet eyes filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. “That’s not a life,” she says softly. “That’s just… surviving.”

“Maybe,” you admit, your voice low. “But at least it made sense. This? This doesn’t make sense. Ponies throwing parties, putting up statues, saying I’m… whatever they think I am. It’s like they don’t even see me. Not really.”

Twilight’s ears droop slightly, and she hesitates before speaking. “Maybe they don’t see the whole you yet. But that doesn’t mean they don’t care. They’re trying to show their gratitude, even if it’s not in a way you’re comfortable with.”

Twilight steps a little closer, her voice soft but insistent. “They’re trying, even if it’s messy. Even if it’s not what you need right now. But running away from it isn’t going to help.”

You glance at her, frowning. “I’m not running. I’m just… avoiding.”

“That’s just running with extra steps,” she counters, her lips curving into a small smile. “Look, I get it. All this attention, all this… celebration. It doesn’t feel right to you. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the tree behind you. “So what? I’m supposed to just walk back in there and pretend everything’s fine? Act like I didn’t almost take someone’s head off?”

“No,” Twilight says, her tone steady. “You don’t have to pretend anything. Just go back and be yourself. Let them see the you who’s still figuring things out. They’re not expecting perfection—they just want you to know you’re welcome here.”

You scoff, looking away. “They’ve got a weird way of showing it.”

Twilight’s eyes soften, and she nudges you gently with her hoof. “Pinkie worked hard on that party. She wanted to make you feel appreciated. You don’t have to love it, but at least give her—and everypony else—a chance.”

You hesitate, her words sinking in. The thought of walking back into that room makes your chest tighten, but so does the idea of letting Pinkie down. You glance at Twilight, her expression a mix of determination and understanding, and sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter, pushing off the tree. “But if anyone starts crying, I’m out.”

Twilight chuckles, her smile growing. “Fair enough. And don’t worry—I’ll be right there with you.”

The two of you walk back to the library, the muffled sounds of Pinkie’s energetic voice drifting through the door. You stop just outside, your hand hovering over the handle. Twilight places a hoof on your arm, her touch grounding.

“You’ve got this,” she says softly.

You nod, steeling yourself before opening the door. The room goes quiet for a moment as all eyes turn to you. The tension is palpable, but Pinkie bounds over with her trademark enthusiasm, her mane fully reinflated.

“You’re back!” she exclaims, a beaming smile on her face. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back, but here you are! We didn’t even eat the cake yet!”

The other ponies seem to relax as Pinkie’s energy fills the room again. You glance around, feeling the weight of their attention, but Twilight steps closer, standing by your side like a silent reassurance.

“Sorry about earlier,” you say, your voice low but steady. “I didn’t mean to… you know.”

Pinkie waves a hoof dismissively. “Oh, that’s all water under the bridge! Or cider under the tap? Whatever! The point is, you’re here now, and that’s what matters!”

She zips off to retrieve a slice of cake, and the other ponies slowly start to mingle again, their chatter resuming. You let out a breath, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. Twilight nudges you gently, her smile warm.

“See? Not so bad.”

You glance at her, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

She grins. “You’ll thank me later.”

And for the first time since you returned, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can handle this. One step at a time.

The tension in your chest begins to loosen as the party hums around you. Ponies are laughing, chatting, and stealing glances your way. Twilight sticks close, but her presence feels more reassuring than protective now. Even Pinkie’s boundless energy starts to feel less overwhelming, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax.

You’re halfway through a slice of cake—surprisingly good, by the way—when the first tremor hits. The ground shudders violently, sending a few cups and plates clattering to the floor. Conversations die as the room falls silent, all ears swiveling toward the source of the sound.

“What was that?” a pony murmurs, their voice trembling.

Before anyone can answer, another tremor ripples through the library, stronger this time. The lights flicker, and a faint, almost imperceptible hum from the magical barrier grows louder. You stand, instinctively reaching for the hilt of your dagger as every nerve in your body tightens.

“Something’s hitting the barrier,” Twilight says, her voice sharp and steady. She’s already moving toward the door, her horn glowing faintly. “Stay inside. I’ll check—”

“No,” you cut her off, already moving to follow. “You’re not going out there alone.”

Twilight hesitates for a fraction of a second, then nods. “Fine. But stick close.”

The two of you step outside, the other ponies crowding near the windows and doorway, watching with wide, fearful eyes. The air is thick, suffused with a heat that’s almost suffocating. You glance up and freeze.

A massive, towering creature looms over the town, its molten rock-like skin glowing with fiery veins of magma. Smoke and ash swirl around its hulking form, and with every movement, the ground trembles beneath its weight. It slams a massive, clawed hand against the barrier, the sheer force sending ripples of violet energy through the protective dome.

“Sweet Celestia…” Twilight breathes, her ears pinned back.

The creature lets out a guttural roar, a sound so deep and primal it feels like it’s vibrating in your chest. Another blow lands against the barrier, and the magical hum grows more strained, flickering faintly at the edges.

“What is that?” you ask, your voice low.

“I don’t know,” Twilight replies, her tone tight. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A group of ponies emerges cautiously from nearby homes, their faces pale as they look up at the behemoth. The barrier shudders again, cracks of magical energy sparking along its surface.

Twilight steps forward, her horn glowing brighter. “The barrier won’t hold if it keeps this up.”

You glance at her, then back at the creature, its molten form radiating heat so intense it’s hard to look directly at it. “So, what’s the plan? You got some spell for this thing?”

Twilight doesn’t answer immediately, her jaw tightening. “I don’t know if there’s a spell strong enough. This thing’s enormous, and I don’t even know where to begin with something that size.”

Another blow lands, and the barrier flickers, the hum dipping dangerously low. Panic ripples through the gathered ponies, and you tighten your grip on your dagger.

“Well, we’d better figure something out fast,” you say grimly. “Because I don’t think it’s gonna wait for us to brainstorm.”

The creature roars again, slamming both fists against the barrier with a force that sends a shockwave through the ground. It’s clear the barrier isn’t going to hold much longer, and the weight of what’s coming sinks in.

You Can’t Outrun What You Are

Twilight’s eyes narrow as she watches the colossal creature slam against the barrier again. The flickering magic hums louder, almost as if protesting the relentless assault. She grits her teeth and turns to you.

“The crystal powering the barrier,” she says quickly, “it’s not just holding the magic together. It attracts and channels mana from the environment. If we can buy some time, it should recover and repair the damage.”

You glance at her, then at the hulking behemoth pounding against the dome. “Buy some time? How much time?”

“Minutes,” she says, her voice tight. “Maybe less, if the mana flow stabilizes quickly. But we need to distract that thing.”

You let out a sharp breath. “Fine. How do we stop something that big?”

Twilight’s horn flares with magic as she takes a step forward. “We don’t stop it. We just keep it busy.”

Before you can protest, a bolt of violet energy arcs from her horn, crackling through the air and slamming into the creature’s shoulder. The impact sends sparks flying, but the molten skin absorbs the hit without so much as a flinch. The creature turns its fiery gaze toward her, letting out a guttural roar.

“Hey!” Twilight shouts, firing another blast. “Over here!”

The creature swings one massive arm toward her, molten claws raking the air. She leaps back, narrowly avoiding the blow, and fires again. The attack lands, but it’s like throwing pebbles at a mountain—there’s no visible damage, and the creature doesn’t even seem fazed.

“Twilight, it’s not working!” you yell, your hand gripping the hilt of your dagger.

“I know!” she shouts back, her voice strained as she teleports out of the way of another swing. “Its outer shell is too dense, and the heat is dissipating my spells before they can penetrate!”

“Then what’s the point?” you demand, dodging a falling ember as the creature’s massive feet shift, sending molten debris scattering.

“The point is to keep it focused on me!” she retorts, her horn glowing brighter as she fires a rapid succession of blasts, each one striking true but doing little more than leaving faint scorch marks on the creature’s already molten surface. “We just need a little more time for the barrier to recover!”

The creature lets out another ear-splitting roar, turning its attention fully to Twilight as she teleports again, keeping just ahead of its lumbering swipes. The ground trembles with every step it takes, the intense heat making it harder to breathe.

You glance at the flickering barrier and then back at Twilight, her movements sharp and deliberate as she keeps the creature chasing her. It’s clear she’s buying time, but you can see the strain on her face. She can’t keep this up forever.

“Fine,” you mutter, pulling your dagger free and pressing the activation button. Radiant flames spring to life along the blade, and you grip it tightly, stepping forward. “Guess I’d better give it something else to aim at.”

You grip the radiant dagger tightly, the flames licking along the blade as you step forward. The creature’s sheer size and heat make it hard to think, but you force yourself to focus. Twilight is darting around it, firing spell after spell, her attacks doing little more than drawing its attention. She can’t keep this up forever.

“Hey, you oversized Clod!” you shout, running toward its side. The creature doesn’t react at first, its focus still on Twilight. Gritting your teeth, you hurl a rock at its molten leg. It bounces harmlessly off the glowing surface, but it’s enough to make the creature pause and glance your way.

“That’s right,” you mutter, your pulse pounding. “Come and get me.”

It roars, the sound shaking the ground, and turns toward you. Its molten skin cracks and glows brighter as it raises one massive hand, the air around it distorting from the heat. You dive to the side just as it slams the ground where you’d been standing, the force of the impact sending a shockwave through the earth.

Rolling to your feet, you rush forward and drive your dagger into its foot, aiming for a glowing seam in its molten armor. The blade sinks in, the radiant flames flaring brighter as they meet the creature’s heat. For a moment, you think it’s working.

Then the Clod twists, and the dagger barely leaves a scratch. It roars in fury, swinging its other arm toward you. You duck, but the sheer force of the swing sends you sprawling to the ground. The heat radiating from its body feels like it’s baking you alive.

“Twilight!” you shout, scrambling backward as the creature looms over you. “Any bright ideas?”

“Get out of there!” she yells, teleporting closer. Her horn flares, and a shield of magic forms around you just as the creature’s massive arm crashes down. The impact shatters the shield, the backlash sending you skidding across the ground.

You cough, the air thick with ash and smoke, and push yourself up on shaky arms. The dagger is still clutched in your hand, its flames flickering weakly. The creature is already turning back toward Twilight, drawn by her magic.

“Stay down!” Twilight shouts, her voice frantic as she teleports again, narrowly avoiding another swipe. “You can’t hurt it! You’ll get yourself killed!”

“I noticed!” you shout back, staggering to your feet. Your vision blurs as the heat saps your strength, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to stay upright.

The creature roars again, raising both arms to slam them down. The ground beneath you shudders violently, and you lose your footing, falling hard. Twilight appears at your side in a flash of light, her horn glowing as she creates another shield to block the molten debris raining down around you.

“We can’t stop it like this,” she says, her voice tight with strain. “It’s too strong.”

“You think?” you mutter, coughing as you struggle to sit up.

Twilight’s magic wavers, the shield flickering under the onslaught. “The barrier’s almost recovered,” she says, glancing at the glowing crystal in the distance. “We just have to hold on a little longer.”

“And then what?,” you reply sharply, gripping the hilt of your dagger. The radiant flames sputter out, leaving the blade cold and dull. You glance at it, then at the creature, its molten form towering above you. “Got any backup plans?”

Twilight’s jaw tightens, her magic flaring brighter. “Just one. Don’t die.”

The creature roars again, and you can only hope Twilight thinks of something fast.

The creature towers over you and Twilight, molten claws raised high as the air around it shimmers with heat. The barrier flickers weakly behind it, its magical hum barely audible over the pounding in your ears. Twilight’s shield wavers, her horn glowing brighter as she grits her teeth, pouring every ounce of magic she has into holding it together.

You tighten your grip on the dagger, even though its flames have gone out.

And then, the world erupts in light.

A golden beam of pure energy descends from the sky, so intense it momentarily blinds you. The heat from the creature is nothing compared to the searing brilliance that envelops it, forcing it to stagger backward with an otherworldly roar. The beam doesn’t stop, cutting through the molten rock-like skin to its glowing core. The ground shakes violently as the creature thrashes, molten chunks of its body falling away and turning to ash before they can hit the ground.

You shield your eyes with one arm, squinting through the blinding light. The source of the beam descends gracefully from the sky, her form radiant and commanding. Princess Celestia. Her mane flows with the colors of dawn, and her horn blazes with golden energy as she channels the power of the sun itself.

“Begone,” her voice rings out, clear and authoritative, echoing across the battlefield. “You do not belong here.”

The creature roars again, its defiance faltering as the beam intensifies. Celestia’s magic focuses on the molten core, superheating it to the point where even the creature’s immense heat cannot sustain itself. With a final, guttural cry, it begins to sink, the ground beneath it glowing with molten rock as the earth engulfs it.

The shaking subsides, the light fades, and the oppressive heat dissipates. The creature is gone, leaving behind only scorched earth and a faint trail of smoke. Celestia lands lightly on the ground, her wings folding neatly at her sides as she surveys the damage. Her expression is calm but grave.

Twilight collapses onto her haunches, her magic fading as she lets out a shaky breath. You lower your arm, your gaze fixed on Celestia. For the first time, you truly understand why she had the audacity to enter the Everfree alone. Her power is a force of nature.

Celestia turns to you and Twilight, her serene gaze softening as she approaches. “Are you both unharmed?”

Twilight nods weakly, still catching her breath. “We’re… okay. The barrier’s recovering.”

You swallow hard, your mind racing as you stare at her. “That was… something else,” you manage, your voice rough.

Celestia’s gaze lingers on you, and a faint smile touches her lips. “The sun is a source of life, but it is also a force of destruction when needed. I hoped it would not come to this, but I could not allow such a creature to harm my little ponies.”

Celestia steps closer, her eyes settling on you with a warmth that feels oddly personal. “And you,” she says softly, her tone almost reverent, “your actions today were nothing short of remarkable. Standing your ground against such a force, even when the odds seemed insurmountable… You’ve proven yourself yet again.”

Her words make you shift uncomfortably. You’re not used to this level of praise, least of all from her. “I didn’t exactly do much,” you mumble, avoiding her gaze. “The thing barely noticed me.”

Her smile widens, as if amused by your humility. “Courage is not measured by the damage one inflicts, but by the willingness to stand in the face of danger. You saved my student and gave the barrier time to recover. For that, you have my gratitude.”

Twilight, who had been catching her breath nearby, suddenly stiffens. Her ears perk, and her eyes dart between you and Celestia, narrowing slightly. “He didn’t do it alone,” she interjects, her tone a little too sharp to be casual. “We were a team.”

“Of course,” Celestia says smoothly, her gaze flicking to Twilight with a graceful nod. “Your magic was instrumental, my faithful student. I would expect nothing less from you.”

Twilight’s posture relaxes slightly, but her eyes remain suspicious as Celestia’s attention drifts back to you. “I never truly had the chance to thank you,” the princess continues, her voice softer now. “For what you did in the Everfree. Even after I doubted you… you saved me.”

Her words hang in the air, and you can feel Twilight’s gaze burning into the side of your face. “Uh, sure,” you say awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly planned. Just seemed like the right thing to do.”

Celestia’s smile turns almost playful, her ethereal mane swaying in the breeze. “A lesser soul might have made a different choice. Your instincts are admirable.”

She takes a step closer, her tail swishing lightly—and then it brushes against your leg in a deliberate flick. You blink, startled by the unexpected touch, but before you can process it, Twilight makes a strangled sound.

“Princess!” Twilight exclaims, her voice high-pitched and incredulous. “What are you doing?”

Celestia tilts her head innocently, though there’s a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Simply expressing my gratitude, Twilight. Is something the matter?”

You glance between them, confused. “What? She just… brushed past me.”

Twilight’s eyes widen, and her cheeks flush a deep crimson. “That’s not—! It’s—!” She sputters, her magic sparking faintly as she tries to form words. “You don’t just… flick your tail at somepony unless—unless—”

“Unless what?” you ask, thoroughly lost. “Twilight, you do that to me all the time.”

Twilight’s face turns an even deeper shade of red, and she glares at you. “That’s different!”

“How?” you press, your brow furrowing.

“It just is!” she snaps, her brow twitching in agitation.

Celestia chuckles softly, a sound that’s both elegant and teasing. “Twilight, I believe your friend here is unaware of certain… cultural nuances. Perhaps you should enlighten him.”

Twilight groans, covering her face with a hoof. “I’ll explain later.”

You glance at Celestia, who’s now smiling in a way that feels far too smug for your liking. Something about her demeanor unsettles you—not because it’s threatening, but because it’s so unlike the regal figure you’ve come to expect. You’re used to her being aloof, even dismissive. This? This is something else entirely.

“Right,” you mutter, deciding it’s best not to ask too many questions. “Anyway, thanks for saving our hides.”

Celestia inclines her head gracefully. “And thank you, once more, for everything you’ve done. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Her eyes linger on you for a moment before she turns to Twilight. “Take care, my faithful student.”

With that, she spreads her wings and takes off, leaving you and Twilight standing in the aftermath of the battle. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken tension.

Finally, you break it. “So, uh… what was that about?”

Twilight groans again, her ears flattening. “Let’s just go home.”

You nod, still thoroughly confused, as you follow her back toward the library. Whatever just happened, you’re pretty sure it’s going to come up again—and you’re not sure you’re ready for it.

As you and Twilight step into the library, you’re greeted by an unusual stillness. The decorations, confetti, and banner from earlier are all gone, leaving the space spotless. It’s as if the party never happened.

“Huh,” you mutter, glancing around. “Did Pinkie get her cleanup crew on this, or does she have some kind of party-vanishing magic?”

Twilight sighs, her ears drooping slightly. “Pinkie. She probably cleaned it up while we were dealing with… that.” She waves a hoof vaguely toward the direction of the battlefield. “It’s kind of her thing.”

“Efficient,” you say, dropping your bag near the couch.

Twilight doesn’t respond, just trudges toward the stairs. You follow her, exhaustion catching up to you as the adrenaline from earlier wears off. The day’s events feel like a blur—a horrible creature, Celestia’s arrival, whatever weird thing just happened between the two princesses. Your head’s too full to think straight, and all you want is sleep.

As you climb the stairs, Spike pokes his head out of the bedroom, his curious expression turning into mild confusion. “You guys look like you’ve been through Tartarus. Everything okay?”

“Just another day in Ponyville,” you say dryly, stepping past him.

Twilight shoots you a look but nods. “We’re fine, Spike. Just tired.”

Spike’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches you head toward the bed. “Uh… you’re sleeping in here?”

Twilight’s ears perk, and she clears her throat loudly. “Yes. He’s staying in here. It’s… normal.”

Spike raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Normal? You guys aren't dating, right? Isn't that a bit... problematic?”

“It’s not!” Twilight says quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s completely platonic. Very common. No big deal.”

Spike glances between the two of you, his expression skeptical. “Uh-huh. So if I decided to bunk with Rarity, it’d be ‘no big deal,’ too?”

Twilight’s face goes even redder. “That’s… different! She’s a friend, and you’re… uh… you’re—”

“Uh-huh,” Spike says again, smirking now. “Sure, Twilight. Totally normal.”

You frown, glancing at Twilight. “Wait. Is this not normal? You told me it was a pony thing.”

“It is a pony thing!” Twilight insists, looking everywhere but at you. “It’s just… not something everypony does.”

Spike snickers, clearly enjoying this far more than he should. “Right. Got it. Totally believable.”

“Spike,” Twilight says through gritted teeth, her horn glowing faintly. “Don’t you have your own room to be in?”

“Fine, fine,” Spike says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll leave you two to your totally normal and not-at-all weird sleeping arrangement.”

He ducks out of the room, his laughter trailing behind him. Twilight groans, dragging a hoof down her face as she turns to you. “I am going to kill him.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the bedframe. “So… this isn’t normal?”

Twilight hesitates, her cheeks still flushed. “It’s not… unheard of.”

“That’s not an answer,” you point out, crossing your arms.

“It’s… fine,” she says quickly, climbing onto the bed and pulling the blanket over herself as if that ends the discussion. “Let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

You stand there for a moment, arms crossed, watching as Twilight settles into bed and pulls the blanket up to her chin. Something about the whole situation doesn’t sit right with you—her deflections, Spike’s snickering, the awkwardness she’s trying so hard to brush off.

“Yeah, I’m not doing this,” you say, shaking your head.

Twilight freezes, her ears perking up as she slowly sits up in bed. “What do you mean, ‘not doing this’?”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” you reply plainly. “I’ll take the couch.”

Her jaw drops, and she stares at you as if you’ve just sprouted another head. “But… but you’ve slept in my bed before! Multiple times!”

“Yeah, and now I’m starting to think maybe that wasn’t as normal as you made it sound,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Spike was right, wasn't he? This isn’t really a ‘pony thing,’.”

Twilight’s face flushes bright red, and she scrambles to find an answer. “It is! I mean, it can be. For some ponies. It’s… situational.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Situational, huh?”

“Yes!” she says, her tone a mix of frustration and desperation. “It’s not like I was lying. I just… might have emphasized certain aspects while downplaying others. But it’s fine! We’re friends, and it’s totally normal for friends to—”

“To what? Share a bed like it’s no big deal?” You shake your head again, turning toward the door. “Look, I’m not mad, but this feels… weird now. I’ll crash on the couch.”

Twilight lets out an exasperated groan, flopping back onto the bed and throwing a pillow over her face. “You stubborn... ugh.”

You pause at the doorway, glancing back. “Yeah, well, I’m also tired. Goodnight, Twilight.”

Her muffled response is barely audible. “Goodnight.”

Downstairs, you settle onto the couch, trying to ignore the faint sounds of Twilight tossing and turning upstairs. You know she’s frustrated—probably at herself as much as at you. It’s not like you don’t appreciate her effort to make you feel at home, but after everything today, you just need a little space.

As you close your eyes, you can’t help but wonder why she pushed so hard to normalize something that clearly wasn’t. And more importantly, why you let it slide for so long. For now, though, you push the thoughts aside and let exhaustion pull you into sleep.

The night is restless. The couch creaks with every movement, the cushions too stiff in some places and too soft in others. The faint hum of the barrier outside and the occasional rustle of the wind don’t help. You toss and turn, the events of the day replaying in your head—the behemoth’s fiery form, Celestia’s radiant intervention, Twilight’s flushed face and awkward excuses.

Sleep comes in fits and starts, punctuated by vivid flashes of the Everfree: shadowy figures in the trees, the oppressive silence before a predator struck, the raw simplicity of survival. When morning light filters through the library’s windows, you feel like you haven’t slept at all.

Upstairs, you hear a loud thump and a groan of frustration. Twilight must not have slept much better. You sit up, rubbing your face with your hands as the sounds of hooves clattering down the stairs signal her arrival.

Twilight appears, her mane frazzled and her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She glances at you and hesitates, her ears flicking back slightly. “Morning,” she mutters.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice rough from lack of sleep. “Didn’t sleep well?”

She snorts, grabbing a book off the nearest table and flipping it open. “You could say that.”

Before you can respond, a burst of green flame flares in the center of the room, materializing into a scroll that falls neatly onto the table. Twilight’s eyes snap to it, and she levitates the scroll over, breaking the royal seal with practiced precision.

“What now?” you ask, standing and stretching as Twilight reads the letter.

Her expression grows more serious as her eyes scan the page. “It’s from Celestia. She’s calling a meeting in Canterlot. She wants us there immediately.”

“Let me guess,” you say dryly, leaning against the table. “It’s about the Everfree.”

Twilight nods, her brow furrowed. “Specifically, the monsters spilling out into other lands. The behemoth wasn’t the first, and if we don’t figure out how to stop this, it won’t be the last.”

You let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair. “Figures. The forest isn’t just a Ponyville problem anymore.”

“It hasn’t been for a while,” Twilight says, rolling the scroll back up. “Celestia’s been monitoring it, but it’s getting worse. If even she’s worried, then…” She trails off, her gaze distant.

You push off the table, grabbing your dagger from where you’d left it. “Well, no point in standing around. When do we leave?”

Twilight looks at you, a flicker of gratitude in her tired eyes. “The next train to Canterlot leaves in an hour. We’ll have to hurry.”

“An hour,” you repeat, strapping the dagger to your belt. “Plenty of time for coffee.”

Twilight manages a small smile, but the weight of the situation hangs heavy between you. As the two of you prepare to leave, you can’t shake the feeling that this meeting is only the beginning of something much bigger—and much worse.

The train ride to Canterlot is quiet, the kind of tense silence that fills the space when too much is left unsaid. Twilight sits across from you, a book levitating in front of her, but her eyes barely move across the pages. She’s distracted, the worry etched into her features giving her away.

You try to focus on the scenery flashing past the window, the rolling hills and quaint towns growing more frequent as you leave Ponyville behind. But something feels off. The further the train takes you from the Everfree, the heavier your chest feels, like a weight pressing down that you can’t quite explain.

At first, you chalk it up to exhaustion, the restless night catching up with you. But as the minutes pass, the discomfort grows. Your head feels clouded, your thoughts sluggish, like something vital is missing. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, leaning back and rubbing your temples.

“Are you okay?” Twilight asks, her voice snapping you out of your thoughts. She’s lowered the book, her concern clear.

“Yeah,” you reply automatically, though it’s a lie. “Just tired.”

Twilight narrows her eyes, unconvinced. “You don’t look fine. You’re pale.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, though even as you say it, you know it’s not true. The farther you get, the worse it gets—like a part of you is being stretched too thin, pulled away from something you didn’t even know you needed.

Twilight studies you for a moment longer before nodding, though her worry doesn’t fade. “If you’re sure…”

The train lurches slightly as it begins to climb the mountain toward Canterlot. The landscape outside grows steeper. You should feel relieved, knowing you’re heading somewhere safe, but the unease only deepens.

As the city’s gleaming towers come into view, the pressure in your chest sharpens. Your hands grip the edges of your seat, your breathing shallow. The sensation isn’t just physical—it’s mental, a gnawing discomfort at the edges of your mind, like static buzzing in the background.

Twilight notices, her ears flicking toward you. “Okay, now I know something’s wrong,” she says, setting her book aside completely. “You’re sweating.”

“It’s nothing,” you say again, but your voice is tight. You glance out the window, the pristine streets of Canterlot coming into focus. “Just… weird being here. So far from Ponyville.”

The train slows as it approaches the station, the gleaming white and gold of Canterlot growing closer with each passing second. Your chest feels heavier with every mile, the weight of the city’s grandeur pressing down on you. You’ve never seen anything like it—tall, pristine towers carved from marble and gilded with gold, their spires reaching into the sky. Bridges arc elegantly between buildings, and the streets below are bustling with ponies dressed in finery, their movements purposeful and refined.

Twilight seems to sense your unease. “It’s a lot to take in, huh?” she says gently, her tone attempting to be reassuring.

“A lot’s an understatement,” you mutter, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “It’s like… a whole other world.”

Twilight smiles faintly, though her eyes remain clouded with concern. “It kind of is. Canterlot’s the heart of Equestria. It can feel overwhelming at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

The train pulls to a stop, the station just as polished and ornate as the rest of the city. You follow Twilight as she steps off the train, the polished stone platform reflecting the sunlight. The air smells faintly of flowers and something metallic—magic, maybe. You’re not sure.

Twilight pauses to look back at you, her face softening as she sees your expression. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”

You shake your head, glancing around at the towering buildings and the well-dressed ponies bustling past. “Nope. First time. It’s… different.”

“Different good or different bad?” she asks, tilting her head.

You hesitate, searching for the words. “Different… overwhelming. Feels like I don’t belong here.”

She steps closer, her gaze steady. “You do. I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought otherwise.”

You nod, though her words don’t dispel the discomfort gnawing at your insides. The farther you walk from the train station and deeper into the city, the worse it gets. The pristine streets feel suffocating, the ordered perfection clashing with the wild, chaotic life you’ve known for so long. You catch yourself scanning the shadows instinctively, as if expecting something to leap out at you. Nothing does, of course, but the habit is ingrained.

Twilight slows her pace to match yours, her voice quiet. “Is it still bothering you? The feeling?”

You glance at her, reluctant to admit it, but nod anyway. “Yeah. It’s like… being stretched too thin. Like something’s missing.”

Twilight looks like she wants to say something comforting, but she hesitates, glancing toward the towering spires of the castle ahead. “We’re almost there,” she says instead. “Maybe this meeting will help make sense of everything.”

You don’t answer, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground as you walk. The pristine streets and polished buildings feel oppressive, like they’re closing in. By the time you reach the castle gates, the weight in your chest has grown unbearable.

The guards at the entrance nod to Twilight and step aside, their polished armor glinting in the sunlight. She leads you through grand hallways adorned with tapestries and stained glass windows, the opulence only deepening your discomfort. You try to focus on the sound of your footsteps echoing against the marble floors, but even that feels strange—too clean, too controlled.

Twilight stops in front of a pair of heavy wooden doors, her horn glowing as she pushes them open. The room beyond is dimly lit, the walls lined with maps and charts. A massive table dominates the center, covered in papers and glowing runes. Around it stand Princess Celestia, another alicorn who you assume must be Luna, and a handful of ponies in ornate armor.

Celestia looks up as you enter, her eyes lighting up. “Ah, Twilight. And our esteemed guest,” she says, her tone warm. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Luna turns her gaze to you, her expression cool and assessing. Her dark mane flows like the night sky, her presence commanding. “This is the one you spoke of?” she asks Celestia, her voice regal and steady.

“The very same,” Celestia replies, smiling at you in a way that feels almost too… personal.

You glance around the room, the atmosphere heavy with tension. “What is this place?” you ask, your voice low.

“This is our war room,” Luna says, motioning to the table and the maps.

You blink, caught off guard. “What’s a ‘war room’? I thought ponies didn’t… do wars.”

Luna’s brow furrows slightly, as if offended by the assumption, but Celestia laughs lightly. “We prefer peace, of course,” she says, her gaze lingering on you. “But there are times when action must be taken to protect our kingdom. This is one of those times.”

Twilight steps forward, her expression a mix of curiosity and unease. “What’s the plan?”

Luna points to a map on the table, marked with symbols and lines tracing through the Everfree Forest. “We believe the monsters that have begun to invade our lands originate from the deepest part of the Everfree. Something—some force—is drawing them here, tearing rifts between our world and others. We must venture to the source and put an end to it.”

You frown, stepping closer to the table. “That sounds like a suicide mission. You know what’s out there?”

“We do,” Celestia says, her tone serious. “And we are preparing accordingly. This is not a task we undertake lightly.”

Her gaze softens as it meets yours, and she steps closer. “Your experience in the Everfree could prove invaluable. You’ve survived where others would not. Your insight could save lives.”

You shift uncomfortably under her gaze. “I’m not exactly a strategist,” you mutter.

“Perhaps not,” she says, her voice dipping into something almost playful. “But you’re resourceful. And brave.”

Luna raises an eyebrow, clearly picking up on Celestia’s tone. Twilight, meanwhile, looks like she’s about to burst. “Princess Celestia,” Twilight begins, her voice a little too loud, “we should focus on the mission.”

“Of course,” Celestia says smoothly, though her eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary. She flicks her tail subtly, brushing it against your leg as she turns back to the table.

You glance down, confused. “Uh… what was that?”

Twilight’s face turns crimson, and she glares at Celestia. “Princess! What are you doing?”

Celestia blinks innocently. “Merely making our guest feel welcome.”

Twilight sputters, her magic sparking faintly as she struggles for words. Luna, for her part, watches the exchange with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Sister,” she says, her tone dry, “your… hospitality is most enthusiastic.”

You look between the three of them, thoroughly lost. “Okay, what’s going on here? Am I missing something?”

Twilight groans, dragging a hoof down her face. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Let’s just… focus on the mission, please.”

Celestia smiles serenely, but there’s a glint of mischief in her eyes. “As you wish, Twilight.”

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re in way over your head—not just with the mission, but with whatever strange dynamics are unfolding between these ponies

Celestia’s warm smile lingers a moment too long, her golden aura pulling a detailed map of the Everfree Forest to the center of the table. The map is dense with annotations—landmarks, warnings, and more ominously, several red Xs. You recognize some of the locations from your own time in the forest, and each one sends a ripple of unease through you.

Luna steps forward, her expression sharp and commanding. “The situation is dire. All scouts we have sent into the Everfree’s depths have failed to return. Whatever lies at the heart of this disturbance is powerful enough to either repel or destroy any who approach.”

You glance at the Xs on the map and swallow hard. “So… you want to go into the part of the forest that eats ponies alive? Sounds like a great plan.”

Luna’s eyes narrow, but Celestia’s calm voice cuts in before her sister can respond. “The alternative is allowing these incursions to continue unchecked. You’ve seen the devastation these creatures bring. If we do not act, it will spread beyond the surrounding towns.”

You shake your head, leaning against the edge of the table. “And you think what—charging into the most dangerous part of the forest with no idea what we’re up against is going to solve it? Didn’t we just go through this with your last ‘plan’?”

Celestia’s serene mask falters slightly, a flicker of regret crossing her features. “I admit my… miscalculation,” she says, her tone measured. “The Fogcrawler was an unexpected obstacle, and I would not have survived without you.”

Her gaze locks onto yours, and the warmth in her eyes feels uncomfortably intense. “You have a way of overcoming the impossible, even when the odds are dire. That is why your insight is so invaluable.”

You scowl, the memories of the Fogcrawler and the Crawler gnawing at the edges of your mind. “Yeah, and look how that turned out. You barely made it out, and Twilight…” You trail off, the image of her starving and dehydrated with matted fur at the bottom of the castle of the two sisters springing forth. “What makes you think this time will be different?”

Luna steps forward, her tone clipped. “This time, we are not venturing blind. We have identified a concentration of immense magical energy deep within the forest—likely the source of these events. If we neutralize it, we may end the incursions.”

You glance at her, your stomach sinking. “You think it’s the source? You don’t even know for sure?”

“It is the only lead we have,” Luna says coldly. “We cannot afford to wait for certainty.”

Celestia’s gaze doesn’t waver as you speak, her expression calm yet layered with something harder to pin down. “Uncertainty does not negate the need for action,” she says, her voice softening as she steps closer. “And I can think of no one better to aid us in this endeavor.”

Her golden aura brushes the edge of your arm, the subtle warmth of her magic lingering just long enough to feel deliberate. Twilight stiffens beside you, her ears flicking back as she shoots Celestia a sharp look.

“You can’t be serious,” Twilight interjects, her voice tight. “He’s not even fully recovered from the last time he went into the Everfree. He’s not… expendable.”

Celestia’s serene smile falters for a split second, and her gaze shifts to Twilight, her tone measured. “Nor would I ever consider him so. But he has proven his resilience and resourcefulness in ways few could match. You know this as well as I do, Twilight.”

“I know that he’s not a tool for you to use,” Twilight snaps, her magic sparking faintly as she steps closer to you. “He’s been through enough. We can find another way.”

You glance between them, the tension in the air almost tangible. “Uh… I’m right here, you know.”

Twilight’s ears flick, and she mutters something under her breath before looking away. Celestia, however, smiles faintly, her composure returning. “Of course. Forgive me,” she says, her gaze locking onto yours again. “I merely wish to emphasize how much your presence means—to Equestria, and to me personally.”

Her tone dips, just slightly, and you can feel Twilight bristle beside you. “You saved my life in the Everfree,” Celestia continues, her voice carrying an almost intimate warmth. “It is a debt I cannot repay, though I would gladly spend a lifetime trying.”

Twilight groans audibly, her frustration finally boiling over. “Princess, can we please focus on the mission? This isn’t about… that.”

Celestia’s serene demeanor cracks, her brows knitting together in subtle annoyance. “Twilight,” she says, her voice still measured but tinged with an edge, “I assure you, I am entirely focused on the mission. If you feel otherwise, perhaps you are the one who needs to refocus.”

Twilight glares at her, her tail flicking in agitation. “I’m just saying we should keep things professional.”

“Professionalism does not preclude gratitude,” Celestia counters, her smile returning but sharper this time. “Or appreciation.”

You raise a hand, stepping back slightly. “Okay, hold on. Can we not turn this into some kind of… whatever this is? We’ve got bigger problems here.”

Both ponies turn to you, and for a moment, the tension shifts entirely onto you. Celestia’s gaze softens, her tone dipping again. “Of course. I did not mean to cause discomfort.”

Twilight huffs, clearly unconvinced, but she steps back reluctantly.

The conversation circles back to the mission, but your unease only grows. As the plan takes shape—tracking the magical source deeper into the forest—you find your mind wandering back to the oppressive simplicity of the Everfree. Strangely, the thought of returning doesn’t fill you with dread. If anything, the stretched, hollow feeling you’ve carried since leaving the forest begins to subside, replaced by a grim clarity.

“Fine,” you say finally, cutting through the discussion. “I’ll do it. But let’s be clear—I’m not doing this because of some big speech or some sense of duty. I’m doing it because if this thing keeps spreading, we’re all screwed.”

Celestia’s smile returns, radiant and warm. “Your pragmatism is appreciated, as is your bravery.”

Twilight glances at you, her expression torn between relief and frustration. “We’ll go together,” she says firmly. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“Good,” Luna interjects, her voice sharp. “Because no one is going alone. Prepare yourselves.”

As the council adjourns, Celestia lingers near you, her golden aura flickering faintly as she inclines her head. “Thank you,” she says softly, her voice just for you. “For everything.”

Twilight, hovering nearby, groans quietly but says nothing. You glance between them, the weight of the mission and their strange rivalry pressing heavily on your mind.

As the meeting begins to break apart, you linger near the map, staring at the red Xs that mark the forest’s most dangerous areas. The weight of the plan settles heavily on your shoulders, but before you can lose yourself in thought, Twilight speaks up.

“So, who exactly is going on this mission?” she asks, her tone cautious as her eyes flick between Celestia and Luna.

Luna steps forward, her regal demeanor firmly in place. “The group will consist of the Elements of Harmony, my sister, and our human ally.” She nods in your direction, her tone unwavering. “I will remain here to oversee the governance of Equestria and ensure stability in the absence of those venturing into the forest.”

You frown, glancing up from the map. “Wait, so you’re staying behind? Why?”

“My responsibilities lie here,” Luna says firmly. “Should this endeavor fail or unforeseen complications arise, Equestria will need a steady hand to guide it through the aftermath. My sister’s presence in the field is essential, as is yours, but I am more effective here.”

Celestia inclines her head, her golden mane flowing like sunlight. “My sister and I debated this at length. Her wisdom and leadership are invaluable, but so is her ability to ensure Equestria remains stable in turbulent times.”

You raise an eyebrow, skepticism clear in your voice. “So, you’re sending me, the Elements, and yourself into what’s basically a deathtrap, while Luna stays cozy here? No offense, but that seems... uneven.”

Luna’s eyes narrow slightly, though her expression remains composed. “Your skepticism is understandable, but my decision is not born of cowardice. Should you fall, it will be my duty to hold the kingdom together and lead what remains.”

Celestia steps closer, her smile soothing. “The division of roles is deliberate, and it is not a reflection of doubt. Luna and I both have our strengths, and hers will serve best from here.”

Twilight nods reluctantly. “It makes sense,” she says, though her eyes dart toward you as if gauging your reaction.

You let out a sharp breath, leaning back against the table. “Alright, fine. But if this goes south, I hope you’re ready for cleanup duty.”

Luna raises an eyebrow, her tone cool. “I am always prepared.”

Celestia, as if sensing the tension, steps between the two of you. “The Elements of Harmony have faced great challenges before,” she says warmly. “With their courage and your unique perspective, I have no doubt we will find the source of these disturbances and put an end to them.”

Twilight frowns, her ears flicking back. “Princess, with all due respect, this isn’t like anything we’ve faced before. The Everfree isn’t just dangerous—it’s unpredictable. And it’s been getting worse.”

“Which is precisely why your role is so vital, Twilight,” Celestia says gently, her gaze steady. “The bonds you share with your friends, the strength of your magic… these will be our greatest assets.”

You glance at Twilight, catching the flicker of worry in her expression. “And me?” you ask dryly. “What’s my ‘greatest asset’? Stubbornness? Bad luck?”

Celestia chuckles, the sound light but warm. “You underestimate yourself,” she says, her eyes glinting with that unsettlingly personal warmth again. “Your resilience, your resourcefulness… and your heart. They have carried you through trials no one else could have endured.”

Twilight groans audibly, her frustration spilling over. “He’s not some… knight in shining armor, Princess. He’s just—”

“Twilight,” Celestia interrupts, her voice firm but kind, “I am well aware of who and what he is. And I trust in his ability to rise to this challenge.”

The tension between them is palpable, and you can feel Luna’s gaze lingering on the three of you, her expression unreadable. Finally, she speaks. “ Be ready. This mission requires focus, not distractions. The forest waits for no one.”

As the meeting room clears, you remain by the table, the map still spread out before you. The weight of the mission presses heavily on your mind, but another thought creeps in, one you’ve been pushing to the back of your mind. If you’re going back into the Everfree, you need your rifle. The weapon’s current state leaves a lot to be desired—it’s practically a relic after what it’s been through. But it’s your lifeline, your edge against the forest’s horrors.

“Twilight,” you say, catching her attention before she can follow Luna out. “I need to get my rifle fixed.”

Her ears perk, and a flicker of understanding crosses her face. “You’re really going to use that thing again?” she asks, her tone hesitant but not dismissive. “It’s… not exactly in great shape.”

“That’s why I need it repaired,” you reply, your voice firm. “And I’ll need ammo, too.”

Celestia, lingering nearby, tilts her head curiously. “Your… rifle? I assume this is a weapon of some kind?”

“Yeah,” you say simply, not in the mood to launch into an explanation. “It’s a bolt-action hunting rifle. Not the kind of thing you ponies use, but it’s kept me alive.”

Celestia’s eyes light up with intrigue, and she steps closer. “Fascinating. A tool unique to your world, I presume?”

Twilight cuts in before you can respond, her tone sharp. “It’s not just a tool. It’s dangerous, and it’s not exactly easy to explain.”

“I’ll explain it to whoever’s fixing it,” you say, cutting off the brewing tension. “That’s not the issue. The problem is finding someone who can handle it.”

Luna, who’s been watching the exchange with quiet interest, finally speaks. “I know of a craftspony who specializes in unusual requests. Her skills are exceptional, and she resides here in Canterlot. I will provide the directions.”

Celestia’s smile brightens, and she steps closer to you. “I’d be happy to accompany you,” she offers, her voice warm. “I’ve always been curious about the tools of other worlds. And, of course, I wouldn’t want you to navigate the city alone.”

Twilight bristles, stepping between you and Celestia with an almost audible snap of her tail. “He doesn’t need an escort, Princess. And he’s already explained the rifle to me. I can help him handle it.”

“Twilight,” Celestia says gently, though there’s an edge to her tone, “you have your own preparations to make. Gathering your friends is no small task, especially with what lies ahead.”

Twilight’s frustration is palpable, her brow twitching slightly. “But—”

“Twilight,” Celestia repeats, her smile unwavering but her eyes firm. “Trust me to ensure he is well cared for.”

The tension between them is thick enough to cut, and you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Look, it’s just a repair job. I don’t need a parade, and I definitely don’t need a fight about it.”

Celestia chuckles softly, her voice like honey. “Of course not. We’ll keep it simple.”

Twilight glares at her, then turns to you with a sharp look. “Fine. But be careful. And make sure she doesn’t… distract you.”

“I’ll survive,” you mutter, though her words linger as she storms out of the room.

Celestia watches her go, a flicker of something unreadable passing across her face. Then she turns back to you, her radiant smile returning. “Shall we?” she asks, her tone light.

You nod reluctantly, picking up the rifle and slinging it over your shoulder. The cracked stock and frayed rope feel heavier than they should, a reminder of the ordeal it’s been through. As you follow Celestia out into the city, the faint pull of the forest lingers in your mind—a promise of simplicity amid the chaos. But first, you need to prepare for the horrors waiting in its depths.

The streets of Canterlot are bustling with well-dressed ponies, their chatter a soft hum in the background as you follow Celestia through the city. Her golden mane catches the sunlight with every step, and her presence alone commands attention. Ponies bow as she passes, some stopping to murmur reverent greetings.

You glance at her as she walks slightly ahead, her stride confident and her expression serene. “You sure this smith of Luna’s can handle something like this?” you ask, adjusting the rifle slung over your shoulder.

Celestia turns her head, her smile almost disarmingly warm. “If my sister recommends her, she will exceed expectations. Luna is quite discerning in matters of skill.”

You grunt in acknowledgment, not entirely convinced but willing to see it through. As you walk, Celestia slows her pace to match yours, her gaze lingering on you longer than feels comfortable.

“You carry yourself with such resilience,” she says softly, her voice dipping into a tone that feels far too personal. “It’s… captivating.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Uh… thanks? I guess.”

She chuckles lightly, her tail flicking toward you—just barely brushing against your side. You’ve seen Twilight do that, but the gesture always seemed casual, almost absent-minded. This feels different. Deliberate.

“You truly are remarkable,” Celestia continues, her voice almost a purr. “To have faced such horrors and come through stronger… it’s a quality few possess.”

You glance away, the weight of her words pressing uncomfortably. “I’m not sure surviving makes me remarkable. It just means I got lucky.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, as though she finds your humility endearing. “And yet, luck alone does not account for the strength you’ve shown. There is something more to you.”

Before you can respond, she stops in front of a shop tucked into a side street. The sign above the door reads Ironheart Forge, and the faint sound of metal striking metal echoes from within.

“This is the place,” Celestia says, her tone shifting back to its usual regal warmth. She pushes the door open with a gentle nudge of her magic, the soft chime of a bell announcing your arrival.

The interior is a mix of chaos and precision. Tools and scraps of metal are scattered across workbenches, but the craftsmanship on display is impeccable—blades, armor, and intricate mechanical devices that gleam under the dim lighting. A unicorn mare with a soot-streaked coat and a short, fiery mane looks up from her work, her golden eyes narrowing as she takes you in.

“Princess Celestia,” the mare says, her voice rough but respectful as she wipes her hooves on an apron. “What brings you here?”

Celestia steps forward, her presence commanding but warm. “Ironheart, your reputation precedes you. I have brought a unique challenge, one I believe only you can handle.”

Ironheart’s gaze shifts to you, then to the rifle on your shoulder. Her brow furrows. “And what’s this… thing?”

You step forward, unslinging the rifle and holding it out. “It’s a bolt-action hunting rifle. Not from around here, obviously, but it needs some serious repairs.”

Ironheart squints at it, her magic enveloping the weapon as she turns it over. Her expression shifts from curiosity to intrigue as she examines the cracked stock and partially melted barrel. “Interesting. Never seen anything like it. What’s it do?”

“It fires small, high-speed projectiles using a chemical explosion,” you explain, keeping your tone neutral. “It’s precise, powerful, and… well, broken.”

Ironheart snorts, setting the rifle on her workbench. “Broken’s an understatement. This thing’s been through Tartarus and back.”

Celestia steps closer, her voice silky. “I trust you can restore it to its former glory?”

Ironheart raises an eyebrow but nods. “I’ve handled stranger. Give me a day, and I’ll see what I can do. But I’ll need to know exactly how it works.”

You step beside Ironheart as she examines the rifle, her golden magic carefully probing its mechanisms. “Alright,” you say, pointing to the bolt. “This is the part that cycles the next round. It’s a bolt-action, so you pull this back, eject the spent casing, and load the next one.”

Ironheart hums, her expression thoughtful as her magic nudges the worn, pitted metal. “And this here?” she asks, gesturing to the cracked stock.

“The stock’s just for stability,” you explain. “But it’s crucial. Without it, aiming becomes a nightmare."

She nods, then turns her attention to the barrel. “And the rounds themselves? What are they made of?”

“Brass casings, powder, lead projectiles. I’ll need more of those too, but fixing the rifle comes first.”

Ironheart frowns, her brow furrowing. “This is… archaic. Fascinating, but archaic. You’re relying entirely on combustion and manual operation. If you let me work some crystal magic into it, I could—”

“No.” The word snaps out of you like a whip, harsher than you intended. The sharpness in your tone surprises even you, and both Ironheart and Celestia look at you with raised brows.

Ironheart blinks, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“No crystals,” you repeat, your voice firm but calmer now. “No magic. Just fix it as it is.”

She tilts her head, clearly puzzled. “I could enhance its functionality—make it lighter, more efficient, even more powerful. Why are you so against that?”

You struggle for an answer, your mind racing. You can’t explain it, but the very idea of changing the rifle’s design fills you with a deep, visceral wrongness.

“It’s not about making it better,” you say, your voice low and deliberate. “It’s about keeping it what it is.”

Ironheart’s golden eyes narrow as she studies you. “It’s a cracked piece of wood and metal that looks like it’s been chewed on by a dragon. You don’t want it fixed properly?”

“I want it fixed,” you reply sharply. “But not changed. Not with magic, not with crystals—just keep it the way it’s supposed to be.”

Celestia steps closer, her head tilting as she examines you with quiet curiosity. “You seem very… attached to this rifle,” she says, her tone gentle. “Why is it so important to you that it remains untouched by magic?”

You open your mouth to respond but falter, the words slipping away. You don’t have an explanation—not one that makes sense. All you know is that the thought of altering the rifle fills you with a deep, instinctive dread, like violating something sacred.

“I don’t know,” you admit finally, your gaze dropping to the rifle on the workbench. “But I can’t let it be anything else. If that means replacing parts, fine. If that means scrapping the whole thing and starting over, fine. But no magic.”

Ironheart frowns, her tail flicking irritably. “You’re making this harder for no reason. I could get it done faster and better with the right enhancements.”

“No,” you say again, your voice firmer now. “I don’t care if it takes longer or if it’s harder. It has to stay as it is. No magic.”

The room falls silent, the weight of your conviction hanging heavily in the air. Even Celestia, who has been watching the exchange with her usual composure, looks genuinely surprised. Her eyes linger on you, as if trying to unravel a puzzle.

Ironheart lets out a frustrated sigh, throwing her hooves up. “Fine. No magic. But don’t complain when it’s not perfect.”

“I don’t need perfect,” you mutter, your gaze locked on the rifle. “I just need it back.”

Celestia steps closer, her presence warm and steady. “This weapon… it must hold great meaning for you.”

You nod, though the words to explain it still elude you. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

Celestia steps forward, her presence commanding yet gentle. “Ironheart, whatever the cost, ensure that his weapon is restored to its former glory.” She turns to you, her eyes softening. “This is important to you, and so it is important to me.”

You blink, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I insist,” she interrupts, her voice firm yet kind. “It is my pleasure, and my responsibility, to ensure that you have what you need. Besides…” Her tone takes on a lighter note, though her eyes never waver from yours. “A princess ought to invest in what matters, don’t you think?”

Ironheart shakes her head, muttering something under her breath as she turns back to the rifle. “Fine. No crystals. No magic. Just good old-fashioned metal and wood. But don’t expect miracles.”

You nod, feeling an odd sense of relief despite the tension. Whatever it was about the Everfree, about this strange, surreal world you were trapped in, the rifle was something that felt right. Whole. Human.

And nothing was going to change that.

Close Your Eyes, I’m There.

With the rifle left in Ironheart’s capable—albeit begrudging—hooves, you step out of the forge and into the bright streets of Canterlot. The clanging of metal fades as the door swings shut behind you, replaced by the murmur of ponies going about their day. For the first time since arriving in the city, you realize you’re not rushing to the next crisis. There’s a lull, a rare moment where nothing demands your immediate attention.

You glance at the clock tower in the distance, the tall spire gleaming in the sunlight. It’s early yet—time enough to… do what, exactly? You’re not sure. The idea of downtime feels strange, almost alien. After weeks of constant survival in the Everfree, settling into the library, and now the whirlwind of planning this mission, you’ve forgotten what it feels like to have nothing pressing.

Celestia steps beside you, her golden magic adjusting her ethereal mane as she looks at you with a soft, knowing smile. “It seems we have some time,” she says, her voice lilting in a way that immediately sets you on edge.

“Yeah,” you reply cautiously, crossing your arms. “Guess we do.”

Her smile widens slightly, her gaze holding yours just a second longer than feels casual. “Perhaps I could show you more of Canterlot? It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day.”

You hesitate, glancing down the street where the castle looms in the distance. “I don’t know. Shouldn’t I—shouldn’t we be preparing for tomorrow?”

“There is more to preparation than strategy and logistics,” Celestia says smoothly, stepping closer. “Rest is just as important, as is acclimating yourself to the world outside the Everfree. You’ve been through so much—don’t you think you deserve a moment to breathe?”

The way she says it, her tone warm and almost intimate, makes your stomach twist. You glance around, half-expecting Twilight to pop out of nowhere and accuse Celestia of being manipulative. But Twilight is busy gathering her friends, leaving you alone with the most powerful pony in Equestria, who seems intent on spending this rare downtime with you.

“Alright,” you say finally, though your tone is wary. “But no royal tours or… whatever it is you do to impress ponies. Just something simple.”

Celestia’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Of course. Simple.” She gestures for you to follow her, her steps light and purposeful. “I know just the place.”

As you trail behind her, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve walked into something more complicated than you realize. Celestia’s demeanor, always poised and composed, feels different—more deliberate. It’s not just the way she looks at you; it’s the way she carries herself, the subtle flicks of her tail and the way her voice dips ever so slightly when she speaks to you.

You’re not sure what to make of it, but as she leads you away from the forge and deeper into the heart of Canterlot, you can’t help but wonder what she’s planning—and whether you’re prepared to deal with it.

Celestia’s idea of “simple” quickly proves to be anything but.

She leads you down winding streets that seem to grow more elaborate with each turn. The simple cobblestones of the lower city give way to marble walkways inlaid with gold, and the buildings around you become grander, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and stained glass that glint in the sunlight. Ponies in elegant attire bow as Celestia passes, their whispers following you like ripples in a pond.

“This doesn’t look very simple,” you mutter, glancing around uneasily.

Celestia chuckles, the sound light and melodic. “Canterlot has its own way of being simple. I thought you might appreciate something a bit… elevated.”

You don’t like the way she says “elevated.” Before you can protest, she stops in front of an ornate archway guarded by two armored ponies. Beyond it lies a lush garden, its paths winding through vibrant flowers and carefully manicured hedges. A grand gazebo sits at the center, draped in flowing silks that catch the breeze.

“Welcome to the Royal Gardens,” Celestia says, her voice warm as she gestures for you to follow. “It’s one of my favorite places in the city.”

You hesitate, the weight of her words sinking in. This is her garden, a private retreat for the ruler of Equestria. Definitely not the simple outing you had in mind.

“Is this really necessary?” you ask, glancing back toward the city streets. “I was thinking maybe a walk or… I don’t know, sitting in a park or something.”

“This is a park,” she says with a playful smile, stepping into the garden as if the matter is settled. “Just… a very refined one.”

You sigh, reluctantly following her into the garden. The air here is fragrant and still, a stark contrast to the bustling city outside. Birds chirp softly from the trees, and the sound of a distant fountain adds a serene undercurrent to the atmosphere. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s also overwhelming—another reminder of just how far you are from the raw nature of the Everfree.

Celestia leads you to the gazebo, her steps light as if she’s floating. A table set with delicate teacups and a tray of pastries waits, as if someone had anticipated her arrival.

“Please, sit,” she says, her golden magic pulling out a chair for you.

You sit reluctantly, the chair too plush and ornate for your liking. Celestia takes the seat across from you, her gaze steady as she pours tea into two cups. The way she moves, so precise and deliberate, makes you feel like you’re part of some grand performance you didn’t agree to.

“How could this ever amount to simple,” you say, eyeing the tea warily.

“Simple is relative,” Celestia replies, her voice smooth. “For me, this is simplicity—a moment of peace amid the chaos.”

You glance around the garden, the intricate beauty of it all feeling more suffocating than serene. “I’d hate to see what you consider complicated.”

Celestia laughs softly, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, you’d know it if you saw it.”

The conversation lulls for a moment, and you take a sip of the tea out of politeness. It’s surprisingly good, fragrant and calming, but it doesn’t ease the growing tension in your chest. Celestia watches you over the rim of her cup, her expression warm but intent.

“You don’t seem comfortable,” she observes, setting her cup down gently. “Is it the garden? Or… me?”

You stiffen slightly, caught off guard by the question. “It’s just… a lot,” you admit, glancing away. “I’m not used to all this… grandeur.”

Her smile softens, and she leans forward slightly, her tone dipping into something almost conspiratorial. “Then let us pretend, for a moment, that it is not there. Just you and I, enjoying a quiet afternoon.”

You frown, her words only making you more suspicious. “Why?”

“Why not?” she counters, her gaze steady. “You’ve been through so much, endured so many trials. Surely you deserve a moment of reprieve.”

You don’t have an answer to that, and the silence stretches between you. Celestia’s smile doesn’t waver, but there’s an intensity in her eyes that makes your skin prickle.

“Relax,” she says softly, her voice like a warm breeze. “You’re safe here.”

You try, you really do. You close your eyes, trying to let the calm atmosphere wash over you. The gentle hum of the garden, the chirping birds, and the faint, soothing sound of the fountain should be enough to quiet your mind. For a moment, it almost works. The warmth of the tea settles in your chest, and the chair’s plush cushions seem to cradle you like a long-lost comfort.

But then the memories surface, unbidden and sharp.

Her face. The human the Flesh absorbed. You see it as vividly as the first time, her features twisted in terror as they emerged from the monstrous, undulating mass. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her eyes pleading for something—release, salvation, anything. The image sears itself into your brain, and your chest tightens. That could have been you. If your house had been just a little farther into the forest, it would have been you.

Your eyes snap open, but the safety of the garden feels distant, unreachable. You glance down at your hands, half-expecting to see them covered in the viscous fluids from the Crawler’s stomach, the way they had been when you’d clawed your way out of that nightmare.

The Crawler.

The memory pulls you back into its dark, suffocating embrace. The thing’s segmented body, its chitinous plates clicking as it slithered through the Everfree, looms large in your mind. But it’s not the monster itself that haunts you most—it’s the darkness. That room inside it, so utterly black save for the faintest light of the rune, even that was swallowed whole when mere feet away. Where you’d stumbled blindly, tripping over skeletal remains, hearing the whispers of those who’d come before you and hadn’t made it out.

Your breathing quickens, and you grip the edge of the table, the intricate carvings digging into your palms. You’re here, in the garden. Safe. But your mind rebels against the notion, dragging you back to the edge of the abyss.

“Are you alright?” Celestia’s voice breaks through the haze, her concern evident. She leans forward, her golden magic brushing against your shoulder, grounding you.

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. “I… I’m fine,” you manage, though the words feel hollow. “Just… tired.”

Celestia’s concern doesn’t waver, and her eyes remain fixed on you, as if she can see past the half-hearted excuse. “Tiredness doesn’t cause that look in your eyes,” she says gently. “I know it all too well.”

You frown, turning your gaze to the teacup in front of you. “It’s nothing,” you mutter, your tone sharper than you intended.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” she counters, her voice firm but patient. “You’ve faced horrors most couldn’t fathom. It’s natural for those memories to linger.”

The words grate on you. Natural? There’s nothing natural about the images clawing at your mind, the weight in your chest, the constant hum of unease. You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms defensively. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Celestia hesitates, her serene expression faltering just slightly. “Keeping it bottled up won’t—”

“Enough,” you interrupt, your voice low but resolute.

For a moment, silence stretches between you. Celestia studies you, her gaze softening as if she wants to push further but chooses not to. Finally, she nods, a small sigh escaping her lips. “Very well. But know that the offer stands, should you ever wish to speak.”

You nod curtly, grateful for the reprieve. The last thing you need is another round of prying questions. Twilight’s incessant attempts to unpack your trauma have been enough to last a lifetime.

Speaking of Twilight, you can’t help but imagine how she’d react if she were here. She’d be pushing harder than Celestia, that worried look on her face as she bombarded you with questions, offering solutions you didn’t ask for. As much as you cared about her, her insistence was exhausting.

Celestia leans back, her posture relaxed but her eyes still on you. “You remind me of Luna,” she says after a moment, her tone wistful.

“How so?” you ask, genuinely curious despite yourself.

“She carried her burdens alone for so long,” Celestia explains, her voice soft. “She believed it was her duty to bear the weight of her struggles in silence. It nearly consumed her.”

You glance away, uncomfortable with the comparison. “I’m not Luna.”

“No,” she agrees, her smile faint. “But you don’t have to be her to learn from her mistakes.”

Her words linger in the air, but you don’t respond. The conversation feels too close, too raw. You pick up your teacup, letting the warmth seep into your hands as you focus on the taste rather than the emotions swirling in your chest.

Celestia watches you with a softness that feels unnerving. You’re not sure if it’s your refusal to engage or something else entirely, but her gaze sharpens, taking on a more deliberate intensity.

“You intrigue me,” she says suddenly, setting her cup down with an elegance that feels almost predatory. “Not just because of your resilience, though that is certainly impressive, but because of your heart.”

You blink, startled by the sudden shift. “My… heart?” you echo, leaning back slightly.

She nods, her smile deepening as she leans forward. “Yes. It’s rare to find someone so steadfast, so unwilling to bend under the weight of their struggles. You endure not because it is easy, but because it is who you are. I admire that.”

The way she says it, her voice dipping just enough to make your pulse quicken, sets off alarm bells in your head. “Uh… thanks?” you say, unsure of how to respond.

Celestia tilts her head, her mane catching the light like molten gold. “Perhaps,” she begins, her tone light but unmistakably pointed, “you might consider allowing yourself a moment of joy. A connection. A chance to let someone in.”

The implication isn’t subtle, and your stomach twists. You lean forward, setting your cup down firmly. “Are you… asking me out?”

Her smile widens, the slightest flick of her tail brushing against your leg—a gesture that might have seemed innocent if you hadn’t noticed the same thing from Twilight. “I am,” she says, her voice warm and confident. “It’s been centuries since I’ve felt so… drawn to someone.”

You sit back, crossing your arms. “Centuries, huh? That’s a lot of pressure for a guy.”

She laughs lightly, as if your sarcasm is charming. “I doubt you’d buckle under it. You’ve already proven your strength in far greater trials.”

You hesitate, the weight of her attention pressing down on you. Part of you feels flattered—how could you not, with a literal goddess flirting with you? But another, louder part of you feels the urge to push her away.

“I appreciate the… offer,” you say carefully. “But I’m not exactly in a place for that. My life’s kind of… complicated right now.”

Celestia’s expression doesn’t falter, though there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, maybe, or challenge. “Complicated how?”

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “There’s Twilight, for one. She’s… well, it’s complicated. I told her no, but that didn’t stop her from—” You pause, realizing how this sounds. “It’s just… messy.”

“Ah,” Celestia says, her tone rich with understanding. “And yet, you care for her.”

“Of course I do,” you say, frustrated that this needs explaining. “She’s been there for me, even when I didn’t ask her to be.”

Her gaze softens, but the playful glint remains. “And yet you hesitate to let her in fully.”

“Because of Echo,” you blurt out, the name slipping free before you can stop it. Celestia’s ears perk in curiosity, and you sigh, already regretting bringing it up. “Echo was… someone who got through to me,” you say, your voice quieter, more measured. “She broke down the walls I’d spent years building, not with sweetness or subtlety, but with sheer fire and determination. She didn’t tiptoe around me or play games—she was direct, sometimes annoyingly so. But it was simple. No pretenses, no second-guessing. Just her, bold and unapologetic, making it clear what she wanted.”

You pause, the memory of her sharp wit and relentless energy flashing through your mind. “I think that’s what I liked most about her. That sass, that fire. It wasn’t just her way of dealing with the world—it was her way of pulling me out of my own head. For the first time, I thought… maybe there was something real there. Something worth holding onto.”

“What happened to her?” Celestia asks, her voice quiet and sincere.

You close your eyes briefly, the memory of Echo’s final moments flaring to life. “She wasn’t real. Not really. She was a spirit, bound to the forest. The moment I left, she… disappeared. Like she was never there.”

Celestia tilts her head, her mane shimmering as she regards you with a mixture of pity and intrigue. “A tragic loss,” she says, her tone soft but unwavering. “Yet it speaks to your capacity for connection, even in the darkest of places.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “it also speaks to my bad luck.”

Celestia chuckles, the sound warm and indulgent. “Or perhaps it speaks to your unwillingness to settle for anything less than something meaningful.”

You shake your head, standing abruptly. “Look, I’m flattered, really, but I’m not interested. I’ve got enough on my plate without adding… whatever this is to the mix.”

For the first time, Celestia seems genuinely taken aback. She recovers quickly, her smile returning, though there’s a new sharpness to it. “I see. Perhaps another time, then.”

You meet her gaze, your tone firm. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Her eyes glint with something dangerous—excitement, maybe, or the thrill of a challenge. “We’ll see.”

You don’t respond, turning to leave the garden. Behind you, Celestia’s smile lingers, her gaze following you with a newfound intensity. Whatever you’ve just stepped into, it’s clear that Celestia isn’t used to hearing the word no. And something tells you she doesn’t plan to let it stay that way.

You step briskly out of the Royal Gardens, your boots clicking against the smooth marble streets of Canterlot. You’re definitely not running—just… walking with purpose. Away from Celestia’s unnervingly intense gaze, her lingering smile, and whatever the hell that whole interaction was supposed to be.

“Why does everything in this world have to be so damn complicated?” you mutter under your breath, glancing around at the pristine streets. The city feels like a maze of identical white stone and gold filigree, the buildings towering above you in a way that’s both impressive and oppressive.

You take a left, then a right, passing a row of ponies sipping tea at an outdoor café. Their conversations falter as they glance at you, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled unease. You ignore them, focusing on finding some kind of landmark or sign that might guide you back to the castle or the train station—or anywhere familiar, really.

But the farther you walk, the less familiar everything becomes. The streets blur together, each turn leading to another stretch of identical grandeur. Your frustration builds as you realize you’re well and truly lost.

“Great,” you mutter, stopping at a corner to get your bearings. “Just what I needed—lost in the city of ponies.”

A group of foals giggles nearby, pointing at you before scurrying away. Their laughter echoes faintly, and you groan, scrubbing a hand down your face. “This is why I liked the forest. At least the monsters didn’t stare at me like I’m some kind of exhibit.”

You take another turn, hoping it’ll lead somewhere more recognizable. Instead, you find yourself in a quieter part of the city, the bustling streets giving way to a narrow alley lined with quaint shops. The air smells faintly of flowers and freshly baked bread, a surprisingly pleasant contrast to your growing irritation.

“Alright,” you mutter, glancing around. “Maybe I can ask for directions. If I can find someone who doesn’t look like they’re about to faint.”

As if on cue, a unicorn mare steps out of one of the shops, her saddlebags bulging with books. She freezes when she sees you, her eyes widening in surprise. You open your mouth to ask for help, but she quickly ducks back inside, the door slamming shut behind her.

“Of course,” you say, throwing up your hands. “Why would this be easy?”

You keep walking, the alley winding into another unfamiliar street. The towering spires of Canterlot Castle are still visible above the rooftops, but they don’t help you figure how to get there from her. The giant walls that separate each section of the city seem to go on forever. You sigh, debating whether to just find a bench and wait for someone to come looking for you.

Then again, someone could be Celestia. Or Twilight. Neither option feels particularly appealing right now.

“Lost, are we?” a voice says behind you, startling you out of your thoughts.

You spin around, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a mare standing just a few feet away, half-hidden in the shadow of an ornate lamppost. Her coat is a deep, slate-gray, and her mane is an uneven tangle of dark blue and purple strands. Her piercing yellow eyes seem to glint with mischief—or something darker.

You narrow your eyes, shifting your weight. “Who’s asking?”

She tilts her head, a faint smirk curling her lips. “Just a helpful pony. You look like you’re trying to find your way somewhere… important.”

Your hand brushes the hilt of your dagger, though you keep it subtle. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

She steps forward, her movements unnervingly smooth. “Let’s just say I have a knack for spotting when someone’s out of place. And you, my friend, are very out of place.”

The way she says it sends a shiver down your spine. You scan her for weapons or other signs of danger, but aside from her strange demeanor, she seems harmless. Still, something about her feels off. “You know a lot about strangers, do you?”

“More than most,” she replies with a shrug, her saddlebags rustling as she adjusts them. “And I know Canterlot can be… unfriendly to those who don’t fit the mold.”

You frown, unsure whether she’s mocking you or offering genuine insight. “I just need to find my way back to the castle.”

Her ears perk up at that, her smirk widening. “The castle? Now that’s interesting. What’s a non-pony like you doing trying to get there?”

“Not your business,” you say flatly.

She chuckles, the sound light but unsettling. “Fair enough. But if you’re looking for the fastest way in, you’re going the wrong direction.”

You hesitate, your instincts warring with your desire to get back on track. “And you know the right direction, do you?”

“Maybe I do,” she says, her smirk never faltering. “For a price.”

You stiffen, your hand inching closer to your dagger. “A price?”

She laughs again, her tone light and mocking. “Relax, tough guy. I’m joking. I’ll help you—for free, even. Consider it a favor to a fellow wanderer.”

“Why?” you ask, suspicion thick in your voice. “What’s in it for you?”

“Entertainment,” she says simply, her eyes glinting. “And maybe a bit of curiosity. It’s not every day you see someone like you wandering around Canterlot.”

You consider her offer, your gut telling you this mare is strange but not dangerous. At least, not immediately. “Fine,” you say, keeping your tone guarded. “Lead the way.”

She grins, turning down a narrow side street. “Follow me, then. And try not to get distracted—this city has a way of swallowing up the unwary.”

You follow her cautiously, your senses on high alert. The mare moves with an ease that contrasts sharply with the manicured perfection of the streets around her. As she leads you through the twisting alleys, her chatter fills the silence.

“So, what brings you to the castle? Royal business? Secret mission? Or just got lost during a fancy tea party?”

“Something like that,” you say vaguely.

She glances back at you, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “You’re not exactly forthcoming, are you?”

“Guess not.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “Fair enough. Everyone’s got their secrets. Just make sure yours don’t bite you when you’re not looking.”

The words hang in the air, and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or just her odd sense of humor. Either way, you keep your guard up as she leads you closer to the castle, the spires looming ever larger above the rooftops.

The strange mare keeps a steady pace, her hooves clicking lightly against the stone as she weaves through the labyrinthine streets of Canterlot. Despite your unease, she doesn’t slow down or look back often, her confidence in the winding paths oddly reassuring.

“You’ve got an interesting way of blending in,” she says after a while, her voice cutting through the silence. “By that, I mean you don’t blend in at all.”

“Thanks for the observation,” you reply dryly, keeping a careful distance behind her.

“Don’t mention it,” she says with a grin, glancing back over her shoulder. “But seriously, you’re a walking enigma. The way ponies look at you—it’s not just because you’re different. There’s something else. Something… heavier.”

You bristle at her words, your jaw tightening. “I didn’t realize this was an interrogation.”

“Oh, it’s not,” she says breezily, waving a hoof. “Just… curiosity. You don’t see many creatures carrying that kind of weight and still walking around upright.”

“I manage,” you mutter, your tone clipped.

“Do you?” she presses, her eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of amusement and something sharper. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re one bad day away from snapping.”

You stop in your tracks, your hand hovering near your dagger. “What’s your angle here?” you demand, your voice low. “Why are you really helping me?”

She stops too, turning to face you with a raised eyebrow. “You think I’ve got some grand plan? Maybe I’m just bored. Or maybe I see someone who’s been chewed up and spat out one too many times and thought I’d lend a hoof.”

“Right,” you say, not buying it. “And you just happened to be wandering by when I got lost?”

She shrugs, her grin widening. “Call it fate.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing for her to continue leading the way. “Fine. Just get me to the castle.”

The mare resumes walking, her tone turning almost playful. “You know, you’re kind of fun in a broody, grumpy way. I can see why somepony might take an interest in you.”

You don’t respond, your mind too focused on the castle looming closer. The towering gates come into view, and you let out a quiet breath of relief.

“Well, here we are,” she says, stopping at the edge of a wide plaza that leads to the castle entrance. She turns to face you, her yellow eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “You’ve got an interesting road ahead of you.”

“Thanks for the directions,” you say curtly, eager to be rid of her.

She smirks, tilting her head slightly. “Be careful out there. The Everfree has a way of… holding onto things. Especially those who leave pieces of themselves behind.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, your breath catching in your throat. You hadn’t mentioned the forest. Not once.

You spin around to confront her, your heart racing. “What did you just—?”

But she’s gone. The narrow street behind you is empty, the only sound the faint hum of distant city life. You search the shadows, your pulse thundering, but there’s no sign of her.

You glance back toward the castle, its imposing gates suddenly feeling less like a sanctuary and more like a barrier between you and whatever just happened. Shaking your head, you force yourself to move forward, the mare’s words echoing in your mind with every step.

The Everfree has a way of holding onto things.

As you approach the towering gates of the castle, the sight of the armored guards stationed at their posts gives you a moment’s pause. Their polished armor gleams in the afternoon sun, and their stoic expressions give no hint of warmth. Still, you’ve dealt with worse than grumpy guards.

One of them steps forward, his gaze flicking over you with mild disdain. He’s a tall unicorn stallion with a silvery coat and an immaculate mane tucked neatly under his helmet. His tone is crisp and formal, but there’s a faint undercurrent of snark. “You must be the… guest we were informed about.”

“Yeah,” you say, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice. “That obvious?”

The guard smirks faintly. “Let’s just say you don’t blend in, sir.”

You sigh, resisting the urge to snap back. “Great. I need to get inside. Where am I supposed to go?”

The guard’s horn lights up, his magic pulling out a rolled parchment from the small satchel at his side. He unrolls it, scanning it briefly before looking up at you. “A room has been prepared for you in the western wing of the castle. I’m to escort you there.”

You frown, crossing your arms. “ You don't seem surprised. Do you get a lot of ‘guests’ like me?”

The guard’s smirk widens slightly. “Not exactly, sir. We were informed of your appearance. The description was… rather unique.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Unique?”

The guard tilts his head, his tone dripping with faux professionalism. “Bipedal, perpetually scowling, and carrying an ornate dagger. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

You roll your eyes, suppressing a groan. “Fantastic. Lead the way.”

He turns sharply on his hooves, his steps precise as he guides you through the grand hallways of the castle. The pristine marble floors and towering stained glass windows make the place feel less like a home and more like a monument to itself. The hum of magical energy seems to linger in the air, faint but constant, adding to the overwhelming sense of grandeur.

The guard glances back at you as you walk, his expression unreadable. “You’ll find the accommodations more than sufficient. The Princesses ensured everything was to their highest standards.”

“I’ll manage,” you mutter, already feeling out of place.

He stops in front of a tall oak door inlaid with golden filigree, his magic opening it with a soft click. The room inside is spacious—too spacious. A large canopy bed dominates the center, surrounded by plush furniture and a balcony that overlooks the city. It’s more luxurious than anything you’ve ever seen, let alone slept in.

“Your quarters,” the guard says, his tone clipped. “If you require anything, there’s a bellpull near the bed. Someone will be along shortly.”

You step inside, glancing around with a mix of discomfort and awe. “Yeah, thanks.”

The guard gives a curt nod but hesitates before leaving. “Word of advice, sir,” he says, his tone softer but still laced with sarcasm. “Try to relax. You look like you’re expecting the walls to sprout fangs.”

“Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen,” you reply dryly.

He smirks again before closing the door behind him, leaving you alone in the too-perfect room. You let out a breath, running a hand through your hair as you take in your surroundings. Despite the opulence, the space feels… wrong. Too clean. Too quiet.

The mare’s ominous words about the forest echo in your mind again, and you can’t help but glance at the window, half-expecting to see the Everfree looming in the distance. Instead, you’re met with the pristine view of Canterlot, the city stretching out like a picture-perfect painting.

You sigh, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. For all its luxury, it doesn’t feel like a haven. Not here. Not now. The unusual pulling sensation tightens around you.

The luxurious bed beneath you feels alien, its softness more suffocating than comforting. You toss and turn, trying to find a position that doesn’t make you feel like you’re sinking into an abyss of pillows and blankets. The room is too quiet, the faint ticking of a clock on the wall the only sound to keep you company.

You stare up at the canopy, your mind racing. You’ve slept in worse places—on the forest floor, wedged between roots, inside the horrifying stomach of a creature you’d rather forget. So why does this feel so impossible?

Your thoughts drift to Twilight, unbidden but persistent. You’re used to the sound of her steady breathing, the way she would shift slightly in her sleep to make room for you, her warmth brushing against your side. It wasn’t romantic—not to you, anyway. It was just… comforting. Familiar. The strange normalcy of it had wormed its way into your routine, even if you never admitted it out loud.

But things are different now. They have to be. You rejected her, drew a line. Sleeping in her bed was already blurring boundaries you weren’t sure you could handle. It was safer this way. Cleaner.

You try to convince yourself of that, repeating it like a mantra as you flip onto your side for the hundredth time.

It’s safer this way. Cleaner.

The words feel hollow.

The door creaks open, and you bolt upright, your heart pounding. The faint glow of the hallway spills into the room, outlining a small figure standing in the doorway. Twilight steps inside, her mane disheveled, dark circles under her eyes. She looks… awful.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice low but sharp.

She frowns, closing the door softly behind her. “I gathered the others and came back,” she says, her tone edged with irritation. “Why are you still awake?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “I could ask you the same thing,” you return, though your voice lacks the bite you intended.

She sighs, stepping closer. “I can’t sleep.”

You notice the way her hooves drag slightly, the weariness in her posture. She looks like she’s been pacing her room all night, her thoughts chasing her in endless circles.

“You’re exhausted,” you point out, though it feels like stating the obvious.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says, her voice flat. She gestures vaguely toward you. “You’re not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed either.”

You run a hand through your hair, leaning back against the headboard. “Twilight, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” she asks, her ears flicking back slightly. “I can’t sleep, you can’t sleep… Maybe—”

“Because we talked about this,” you interrupt, your tone firm but not unkind. “I can’t keep blurring the lines like this. It’s not fair to you.”

She flinches slightly, but the stubborn set of her jaw doesn’t waver. “You keep saying that like you’re doing me some kind of favor. But have you considered that maybe… I don’t care about the lines? That maybe I just need you there?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Her honesty is disarming, despite your reservations.

Twilight steps closer, her gaze unwavering despite the exhaustion etched into her features. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know. You keep pushing me away like you think it’s for my own good, but all it’s doing is making us both miserable.”

She sits at the edge of the bed, not waiting for your permission. Her presence fills the room, and despite yourself, you feel the tension in your chest ease just slightly.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This doesn’t solve anything, Twilight.”

“Maybe not,” she admits, her voice quiet. “But at least we might get some sleep.”

Her words linger in the air, and after a long moment, you let out a defeated huff. “Fine. Just this once.”

Her lips twitch into a faint, tired smile, and she climbs onto the bed, settling in beside you. The warmth of her presence is immediate, and though your mind still buzzes with the weight of everything, your body begins to relax.

You both lay there in silence, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. For better or worse, the quiet rhythm of her breathing lulls you closer to the edge of sleep.