The cruel monster of Everfree

by Zell998

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, Violence, Slice of Life, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Human, Main 6, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure
Length: 41346

In a world of harmony and friendship, a lone human fights to survive, unaware that his struggle is seen as monstrous cruelty.

In the peaceful and colorful land of Equestria, where friendship reigns supreme, the arrival of a lone human shatters the tranquil world. Forced to fend for himself in a place where love and kindness thrives, his actions—born out of raw survival instincts—are seen as unspeakable cruelty by the innocent creatures around him. As he navigates a world that views him as a heartless monster, the human's struggle to survive becomes a terrifying tale of a misunderstood outsider, lost in a land where survival clashes with harmony.

Published 2024-10-02 04:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2025-01-20 22:55:08 UTC

The beginning of a new terrifying myth

I was standin’ at my apple cart, tryin’ to pass the time on what was shapin' up to be one mighty borin’ day. Not much excitement, just a customer here and there—nothin' special. As usual, I was doin' my best to sell the finest apples in all of Equestria, makin’ sure every pony knew they were gettin’ the best.

Then, outta the blue, I saw Mountain Camp gallopin' like he was runnin' from a pack o' timberwolves. That was odd, seein' as how he was supposed to be campin’ with his colt, Safe Camp, somewhere safe in the Everfree for the whole week. He looked downright terrified, but he was in such a hurry headin’ towards the town hall that I didn’t think much of it at first.

I went back to sellin' apples, cheerin' myself up with the good harvest. These sure are the best apples, I thought, as I sold a few more here and there, happy to earn the bits that keep Sweet Apple Acres goin' strong.

A couple hours passed, and things had been goin' smooth—well, as smooth as it gets on a slow day—when I finally sold off an entire barrel o' apples. As I started gettin’ ready to set up another, I heard someone hollerin’ my name.

“Applejack! APPLEJACK!” The voice was loud, breathless, desperate. I turned to see Mountain Camp barrelin' straight toward me, lookin' worse than a rooster who got his tail stuck in a door.

“Howdy there, Mountain! Ya lookin’ for some apples?” I asked, a bit nervous from his wild appearance. “Don’t you worry now, I’ve got plenty. I was just about to set up the next barrel!”

But he wasn’t listenin’. His eyes were wide, full of fear like I ain’t never seen on him before.

“Applejack! There’s no time for apples—there’s a horrible monster in the Everfree!” Mountain’s voice was shakin’, and he looked so panicked that he slammed his hooves down on my apple cart, rearin’ up like a mad pony.

“Whoa there, easy now!” I said, reachin' out and placin’ my hoof on his to calm him down. “Now listen here, Mountain. If you don’t calm down, all you’re gonna do is make me nervous too. Now take a deep breath, and tell me what happened. I’m listenin’.”

He glanced at my hoof, and it seemed to help some. Slowly, he lowered himself back to the ground, takin’ a few deep breaths.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice still shaky. “It’s just… I’m so scared, Applejack. I don’t know what else to do after what happened yesterday in the Everfree.”

“Now, now, it’s alright. You can talk to me. What happened in the Everfree that’s got ya so worked up? You said somethin' ‘bout a monster?” I was skeptical, of course. Sure, the Everfree's full o' strange creatures, but Mountain Camp was an expert. He could handle manticores, timberwolves, and cockatrices—so what in Equestria could scare him this bad?

“Yes! I swear, I saw somethin' terrible, something I’ve never seen before!” His voice trembled, and his body was still tense. “I’ve seen manticores, timberwolves, and cockatrices. I know how to avoid them, even scare them off if need be. But this… this thing, this monster, was unlike anything I’ve ever come across!”

Now he had my attention. “A monster? In the Everfree? What did it do? Why was it so scary? You’ve dealt with plenty of beasts before, why would this one be any different?”

“It’s not just any beast, Applejack! This thing was... It had a mind—something dark and twisted. It was... smart, Applejack. Too smart.”

“Smart?” I tilted my head, not sure I was followin'. “Now hold on, ain’t timberwolves and manticores already kinda smart? Timberwolves hunt in packs, and manticores know how to pick their fights.”

Mountain shook his head, eyes wide, breathin’ fast again. “No, no, not like that. Those creatures have instincts, sure, but this thing… it thought, Applejack. It was cunning, like you or me—but with an evil logic behind it.”

I frowned, tryin' to keep calm. “Alright, so what exactly makes you think this monster was intelligent? What did it do that was so different from the other critters?”

By now, a few ponies had gathered ‘round, listenin’ to Mountain’s story, curious like me. He seemed to take a breath, gatherin’ himself, but his eyes stayed fixed, like he was still seein' whatever horrors had unfolded in the Everfree.

“It was its behavior,” Mountain began, his voice lower now but still full of terror. “It was calm. Too calm. You see, when you’ve been in the Everfree as long as I have, you learn how animals act. You can predict their moves. But this… thing... it wasn’t like that. Its actions were calculated. Logical. As if it was planning something. This monster…”

He trailed off, his hooves trembling again, and I couldn’t help but feel a shiver run down my spine.

“Well… can ya at least describe it? What did it look like?” I asked, trying to keep him on track, though the way he was actin’ was startin’ to make my skin crawl.

Mountain’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Imagine a bear… but smaller, thinner, like it hadn’t eaten in weeks. And instead of fur, it had… clothes.” He shuddered, his eyes cloudin' with dread. “It had clothing, Applejack—clothing soaked in dried blood. I saw it standin' there, holding a massive, sharp rock in one of its strange, spidery appendages. It didn’t have claws, but it was holdin’ that stone like it was part of it, with those long, thin… things.”

He raised his hooves as if showin’ me, but it didn’t make much sense to me. "What do you mean, spidery?"

He nodded, eyes wide. “Thin, long, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Its forelegs didn’t end in hooves—they had these… things, like soft spiders or thin branches. It held that stone so naturally, Applejack, like it knew exactly what it was doing. And the worst part… the stone and its appendage were already stained with blood.”

I could feel my breath hitchin’. I leaned forward, my voice trembling despite myself. “Wait, wait… you came face to face with this thing? What happened? How did you end up so close?”

Mountain swallowed hard. “I… I don’t know. I thought it had already left the campsite, so I went back to retrieve our gear. I had Safe Camp wait and look for the creature while I went to gather our supplies from the tents.” His voice quivered, on the verge of panic again.

I could see he was gettin’ worked up, so I nudged him a little. “Alright, alright, let’s take it from the start. What exactly happened? Start from the beginning.”

Mountain closed his eyes, his whole body shakin’. “It was our second day of campin'. Safe wanted to play by the river, so we crossed using the stones, keepin’ to the safer paths. I had a bad feeling, though. You learn to trust those in the Everfree, especially when I saw a dozen rabbits runnin’ toward us—terrified.”

“Rabbits? You thought it was timberwolves, then?” I asked, tryin’ to piece it all together.

“At first, yes. But timberwolves stink of rot and decay, and there was no such smell in the air. No, what I smelled was faint, like ash or smoke. Timberwolves don’t hunt rabbits in packs. Something else was comin'.” He shuddered, his voice goin’ even quieter. “Something I’d never known before.”

“...So you crossed the river to get away from it?”

“Yes,” he whispered, his eyes vacant as if lost in the memory. “I thought the river would be safe. But I had no idea what kind of horror was comin’ our way…”

I handed Mountain a fresh apple, tryin' to help him regain his strength. But whatever he’d seen, it had rattled him down to his core.

“Well, after a few minutes, Safe was still playing by the river, unaware of the danger. I stayed alert though, watching... Then I saw it.” Mountain’s voice shook as he continued, his eyes distant as if reliving the moment in his mind. “It wasn’t like any predator I’ve ever seen. Most animals, they cover their scent, they try to blend in with the forest. But this thing… it didn’t have fur. It had… clothing, Applejack, like what ponies wear, but soaked in old, dried blood.”

I had to swallow hard at that. Somethin’ about clothes and blood made me feel sick to my stomach. Creatures in the Everfree weren’t no strangers to danger, but clothes? That was somethin’ else entirely.

"Clothes covered in blood..." I muttered, shakin' my head, tryin' to make sense of it. "Mountain, yer sure about this?" I asked, hopin' maybe, just maybe, he was wrong.

“Yes… absolutely sure.” Mountain’s voice grew quieter, his breathing quickening as he recalled the events. “It approached our camp—our tents. I could tell right away it was... different. It wasn’t acting like an animal, Applejack. It didn’t just wander into our camp like some curious creature. No, it looked around, like it was... claiming it.”

"Claimin' it?" I repeated, feelin' my heart skip a beat. "Like, what, like it thought it owned the place or somethin'?"

Mountain nodded grimly. "Yes. It yelled. No reason, no warning. It just screamed into the sky, and then… it did something worse. It knew how to use the tents, Applejack. It knew what they were for. It didn’t just rip them apart—it opened them, went inside, searched through everything as if it was looking for something... not just food."

I felt my hooves lock in place. “Yer tellin' me this thing—this creature—was smart enough to figure out how to open yer tents? Did ya leave ‘em open, or…?”

Mountain shook his head, his voice growing more frantic. “No, it opened them itself. Like it had done it before. Like it knew what it was doing! And it didn’t stop there. It stayed inside the tent, Applejack, for a long time, rummaging around as if it was hunting for something more than just food. Safe, he noticed too. He asked me what it was, what we should do…”

Mountain’s voice cracked then, his eyes welling with tears. “And… for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to tell him. My own son, lookin’ up at me for answers, and I had nothin’.”

Mountain’s voice cracked, and I saw him fightin’ back tears. His son, his little Safe Camp, askin' him for answers, and he didn’t have a clue what to say. I felt a lump rise in my throat, tryin' to imagine what I’d do if Apple Bloom was there instead of Safe. “Mountain… Ah get it. It’s mighty hard not knowin’ what to do when somethin' like that happens, but—”

He cut me off, his voice sharp and panicked. “No, Applejack, you don’t get it. You weren’t there! That thing… when it came out of the tent and saw us… it knew we were watching. It knew. It turned its head and checked behind it, just to make sure we weren’t looking at something else. No animal does that. No beast has ever acted like that.”

I could feel the sweat startin' to build under my hat. My hooves shuffled nervously, but I had to ask. “So… what happened next? What did it do?”

Mountain’s breath hitched, and his voice started shakin’ even more. “It… tried to talk. Not in our language, but it made noises, like it was trying to figure out how we speak. It gestured with its strange limbs—long, thin appendages, like legs but smaller, more... dexterous. And… and Safe…” He stopped, his voice catchin’. His eyes welled up, and I knew what was comin’. I braced myself. “Safe… thought it was friendly. He wanted to go near it.”

“Mountain!” I gasped, my heart jumpin’ into my throat. “Ya can't be serious. Safe tried to go near that thing?”

He looked away, tremblin’ all over. “Yes… He… he thought it was something harmless. Something to play with. And it… it knew how to attract him. It knew how to lure in a foal…”

I felt a chill go down my spine, colder than any wind I’d ever felt. All I could think about was Apple Bloom, wonderin’ if she’d be drawn in just the same. “This thing… sounds like it’s from Tartarus itself. Why didn’t ya run right then an’ there?”

Mountain’s face darkened, his eyes turnin’ hollow. “We didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t attacking us. I thought… I thought maybe it would leave. But then, it disappeared into the trees. We waited… waited for a while. But I couldn’t leave the camp behind. I went back to pack up, to take our things before it returned. Safe stood guard, like I asked…”

He paused, his breath catchin’, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “And that’s when it came back. Safe… Safe said to me, with a happy voice, ‘Daddy, the monster’s here.’ ”

I could barely breathe. “And then what? What in tarnation happened?”

Mountain’s voice trembled so bad I could hardly make out the words. “I ran out of the tent as fast as I could… and there it was. It stood over my son… painting him with blood.”

The crowd around us gasped, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. “Paintin' him… with blood?” I managed to whisper, my voice feelin' weak.

“Yes… from a bird it had killed. It was holding the dead bird in its strange limbs, its head crushed. And it… it smeared the blood across Safe’s coat, like it was marking him. And my son… my son was laughing, thinking it was a game.”

I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. The horror of it all washed over me like a wave. I barely heard Mountain as he finished.

“I… I kicked it. Hard. Right in the stomach. Then I grabbed Safe, and we ran. We didn’t stop ‘til we got home. I washed the blood off him, but I can’t wash the image from my mind. I... I came to you, Applejack, because... I don't know what to do. I don't know how to protect him.”

I felt my throat go dry, my hooves tremblin'. “Mountain… Ah—Ah don’t know what ya expect me to do. Ah’m just a farmer…”

Mountain’s eyes were wide, desperate. “Your family lives so close to the Everfree… Please, Applejack… you have to know something that can help us. Anything.”

I swallowed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Ah… Ah’m sorry, Mountain… Ah can’t…”

Author's Note

And so we return to this story! I’m truly glad you enjoyed it and I appreciate all your lovely comments.

Many of you have shared your thoughts on Fluttershy’s behavior, mindset, and ideals, and I completely understand. I will work on this further to add more depth to her hypocrisy and double standards regarding the carnivorous animals she cares for.

In any case, I’m grateful for the interest in this book that I conjured up from thin air.

Any ideas, comments, concerns, or suggestions will be warmly welcomed! :raritywink:

First day

“Damn it, what happened…?” I muttered under my breath, struggling to lift myself off the ground. My hands brushed against something rough, unfamiliar—the sensation of hard, uneven dirt mixed with the itchy prickling of grass. It wasn’t a floor. I wasn’t inside anymore.

Slowly, painfully, I managed to sit up, wincing as my back throbbed. The earth beneath me wasn’t soft like the bed I so desperately wanted to return to. It was firm, unwelcoming. I ached for the comfort of my mattress.

"Where the hell am I? How did I end up here?" Confusion clouded my mind as I looked around, only to be greeted by a strange, vibrant valley. The colors seemed wrong, unnaturally bright, like staring into an over-saturated nightmare that hurt my eyes.

Panicking, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pants. Nothing. My heart sank. No phone. My lifeline in this digital age was gone. In 2024, not having your phone is like missing a limb. I frantically searched again, hoping against hope, but all I found was a pack of cigarettes, the lighter my father gave me, and my house keys.

"What the hell happened last night…? How did I get here like this?" I wracked my brain, but it was blank after leaving work. The last thing I remembered was getting on a bus to head home. That didn’t explain my missing wallet and phone, though.

Survival? I wasn’t built for this. I wasn’t some wilderness expert or scout. The only knowledge I had about survival came from movies and video games—hardly reliable. But what choice did I have? I decided to start walking, aimlessly, hoping to find a forest or maybe a stream, anything that might help me last a few days until I found civilization again.

Fifteen minutes later, I reached the edge of a forest, sticking to its shadows. I wasn’t eager to lose myself in the dense trees. The fear gnawed at the edges of my mind, but I tried to stay composed. I had to, or I’d lose it. I need my mental sanity, beacuse in the worst-case scenario, no one would come looking for me.

The forest was alive—birds chirped overhead, and I could see rabbits in the distance. It was almost peaceful. But that also meant I wasn’t the only hunter out here. Nervously, I picked up a sharp stone, jagged enough to resemble a weapon. It wasn’t much, but at least I had something to defend myself.

By the time evening crept in, I was exhausted. My feet screamed in protest, not made for long treks in these city shoes. Luckily, I stumbled upon a river snaking downhill, but exploring it would have to wait until tomorrow. I drank cautiously from the river, praying I wouldn’t get sick.

With the sun setting, I set about gathering small, dry branches, anything that looked like it might catch fire. It took me longer than expected, and by the time I felt I had enough, the sky was already dimming. If video games had taught me anything, it was that hunting at night would be a dangerous, foolhardy endeavor. So, gripping my makeshift stone weapon, I ventured cautiously into the forest.

Hunger gnawed at me, even though I wasn’t usually someone who ate much. I knew there was no way I could take down a deer or a boar with just this stone, but maybe a rabbit… or even a field mouse. I walked for what felt like forever, finding nothing, when suddenly, a sharp squeak broke the silence.

A rabbit. It stood there, its back turned, probably foraging. My heart raced. This was my chance. My hand trembled as I held the stone. I’d never hurt an animal before, and for a second, I thought it would be like a video game. But this was real. This creature was alive.

My hand shook, doubt flooding my mind. I didn’t want to miss, but with a burst of desperation, I hurled the stone.

It hit. The rabbit yelped in pain, a brutal gash splitting its head open. But it wasn’t dead. Limping, bleeding heavily, it tried to escape. Guilt and nausea swelled in my chest. I didn’t even feel hungry anymore—I just wanted to end its suffering. I chased it down as it stumbled toward a burrow, and before it could disappear, I threw the stone again.

The rabbit collapsed, motionless. Was it dead? I approached, only to find something that sent a cold shock through my veins—a basket of berries next to the body.

“What the…? What the hell…?” I recoiled in horror. Rabbits don’t use tools. They don’t make baskets. This had to be a joke, some kind of sick experiment.

"Hello? Is someone filming this? If so, this isn’t funny! Are we making robots this advanced now?" I reached down to touch the rabbit, half-expecting it to feel artificial. But no. It was warm, furry, and the metallic stench of blood hit me hard.

“Oh god… it’s real…?” I dropped the rabbit, shaking, and stared at the burrow. Inside, there was a tiny door. A door.

“Shit… SHIT!” Panic gripped me. I wasn’t just a animal killer now—I had killed something intelligent. This wasn’t just an animal. It had a home, a life. Trembling, I set the basket down near the burrow and picked up the rabbit’s lifeless body. I needed to return to the firewood I’d gathered.

As I walked back, murmuring apologies under my breath, I noticed something eerie—the once lively forest had gone deathly quiet. The birds had stopped singing, and the creatures had vanished. Was it because the sun was setting… or were they hiding from me?

I reached my makeshift camp near the river and lit the fire with my lighter. The flames crackled, casting dancing shadows over the rabbit beside me. Darkness settled in fully, and with it, the grim reality of what I had to do.

“It’s just an animal… just an animal. Only humans are sentient, right? It’s not conscious. It’s… it’s just a rabbit,” I muttered to myself, trying to convince myself as I placed the rabbit on a rock. With trembling hands, I raised the stone and struck its head again, before clumsily beginning to skin it.

Hours passed, filled with tears and disgust, and when I was done, I had a poorly skinned rabbit, ready to roast. I wasn’t sure I could even eat it, but I had no choice. After securing it over the fire, I went to the river to wash the blood from my hands.

The cold water bit into my skin, but it couldn’t wash away the guilt. I splashed my face, feeling the freezing water drip down, and looked up at the sky, desperately searching for any sign of an airplane or some clue that I wasn’t truly alone here.

“Is that… a horse on the moon? I thought the stories said it was supposed to be a rabbit… A rabbit.” I whispered bitterly to myself. “Where am I? What is this cursed place…?”

The next morning

I was lounging on a cloud, soaking in the warm sun after a long day of hard work with the weather team. Lucky for me, I was flying near Fluttershy’s cottage, and I figured, why not stop by? I mean, who wouldn’t want to hang out with the best flyer in all of Equestria, right?

As I started to descend, I could hear the chorus of birds. They sounded, well... different. Like, not their usual happy Fluttershy kind of singing. Something felt off, like they were struggling.

Once I made my epic landing—because, of course, I always land in style—I saw Fluttershy. But she wasn’t her usual timid self; she looked even more stressed than usual, hiding behind her mane like she always does when she’s really nervous.

“Fluttershy, you okay? It’s me, Rainbow!” I called out, trying to snap her out of it. “C’mon, I thought we got past this whole being scared of other ponies for no reason!” I said, a little tired of always trying to push her to be more social. I mean, I’m awesome, but she really needs more friends.

Fluttershy gasped and peeked out from her mane. “Oh, Rainbow Dash... it’s you,” she said, sounding all shaky. “I’m sorry, I’m just... I-it’s just that something happened... yesterday...”

I didn’t even let her finish. I flew right over to her, checking for any sign of injury. “Something happened? Fluttershy, are you hurt? What is it? Tell me!”

She shook her head, her eyes wide but still full of fear. “No... no, I’m fine... but something awful happened... in the Everfree Forest.”

Now I was intrigued. “You went into the Everfree? Fluttershy, I know you love animals and all, but going into that place is a big no-no, even if the critters like you!”

“N-no, I didn’t go in,” she explained, shaking her head quickly. “It’s what the birds told me...”

She gestured to the little birds still trembling on her windowsill. They chirped softly, snuggling up to her wings for comfort. Whatever they saw must’ve really freaked them out.

“So... what exactly did they see?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I mean, it’s the Everfree. Creepy stuff happens all the time, but Fluttershy’s birds were shaking like they’d seen Nightmare Moon herself.

“They saw a new creature... a-a monster,” she whispered, hiding behind her mane again.

“A monster? Come on, Fluttershy, there’s all kinds of monsters in the Everfree! That’s nothing new,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean, I’ve seen carnivores hunt down little critters before. It’s not pretty, but it happens.”

“Not like this...” Fluttershy’s voice got quieter, almost like she didn’t want to say it out loud. “The birds... they saw it chase a bunny, but it didn’t just... kill it... it played with it.”

That made me pause. “Played with it? Like... what do you mean?” I frowned. That didn’t sound like any predator I knew.

“It threw a rock... a huge rock, and it hit the poor bunny in the head. But... it didn’t die, Rainbow. It ran... bleeding and hurt, but it wasn’t enough to kill it.”

My feathers bristled. Okay, that was messed up. “Wait, so this thing can throw rocks? Animals don’t do that, Fluttershy! That’s... that’s not normal.”

She nodded frantically. “I-I know! That’s why it’s so scary! The poor bunny tried to get to its burrow, but... but the monster threw another rock and hit it again...”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not hunting... that’s just cruel.” I’d seen carnivores hunt, sure, but they didn’t torture their prey like that. This was something else.

“That’s not even the worst part...” Fluttershy whimpered, her voice shaking more. “After it hurt the bunny... it started screaming. The birds said it was yelling in a language they didn’t understand. And... then it made a fire.”

“A... fire?” My jaw dropped. “Fluttershy, are you telling me this thing knows how to make fire? I can’t even make a fire without some help from Applejack’s campfire tricks!”

Fluttershy’s fur had gone pale. She was trembling all over. “Yes, it made a fire... and then it... it...” She started to cry. “I-it smashed the bunny’s head in with a rock... and... skinned it! Rainbow, it skinned the poor little bunny!”

I felt a chill run down my spine. This wasn’t just some wild animal. “Fluttershy... are you sure this isn’t some rogue griffon or something? I mean, a griffon might do something that brutal... but even then, it sounds way too cruel.”

“The birds said it was even bigger than Princess Celestia... maybe a bit smaller than a bear, but definitely bigger than a timberwolf,” Fluttershy whispered. “Rainbow... what if it comes here? What if it comes for my animals?”

That got me. I couldn’t let something like that roam free, especially not near Ponyville or Fluttershy’s cottage. “No way. I won’t let that happen, Fluttershy. Whatever this thing is, it’s not just some animal. We need to tell applejack or somepony, and maybe even Princess Celestia. This thing sounds like it’s from Tartarus!”

I stayed with Fluttershy for the rest of the day, trying to calm her down. She was still shaken, and to be honest, I couldn’t stop thinking about that creature myself. What kind of monster would do something so cruel in the Everfree Forest?

Maybe Princess Celestia had a reason for placing the summer sun celebration in Ponyville... maybe she knew about this thing. Either way, I wasn’t going to rest until we figured it out.

Author's Note

I've been struggling with a creative block regarding the continuation of my planned story, especially since I've returned to university, leaving me with very little time.

In the gaps between my studies, I've attempted to make progress on the other story, and I currently have a draft of about 12,000 words. However, it's still in Spanish and unrefined, meaning it hasn't been translated yet.

To combat this creative block, I've tried drawing and writing other things—mostly nonsensical stories, random ideas about inserting various elements into Equestria, and so on—until I finally arrived at something decent, which is this little introduction I’m sharing. I liked the idea, and since I've been quite inactive lately, I wanted to contribute something to the community. Unfortunately, I’m unsure where to take this work next, so I would greatly appreciate any feedback, advice, or ideas you might have.

If you notice any mistakes or inconsistencies, please feel free to point them out. I hope you enjoy this small introduction!

Second day

Well, this definitely isn't a dream. Once again, I woke up in this strange, unfamiliar place. My back was aching from the rough ground, just a patch of dirt that looked more comfortable than it actually was.

I sat up slowly, stretching my stiff limbs, relieved to find my shoes still next to me. I’d taken them off last night to sleep—risky with all the bugs and creatures around, but after wearing them all day on terrain they were never meant for, my feet were killing me. Shoes back on, I headed to wash my face. The water was cold and refreshing, and luckily, my stomach wasn’t rebelling yet. I know it’s risky to drink from unknown water sources, but I did yesterday, and so far, I feel fine. Still, I’m dreading the thought of what might happen if the water turns out to be dangerous.

Once I was ready, I buried what little remained of yesterday’s rabbit. It’s odd, really. I don’t know if the rabbit was intelligent—animals usually aren’t, or at least, I hope they aren’t. If they are, then Disney might’ve been onto something all along. I mean, a rabbit with a basket? But a door? A freakin’ miniature door in its burrow? That’s more than unsettling. A door means it understands things like property, boundaries—things I thought only humans knew.

I quickly dug a shallow hole, dropped the remains in, covered them with dirt, and placed a few small rocks on top. I muttered a quick thanks for the meal, feeling strangely guilty but also grateful that its sacrifice kept me alive another day.

Following the river downstream, I listened to the birds chirping, their songs calming me. My earlier anxiety—that I was the only hunter in this place—began to fade. The forest didn’t see me as some evil intruder; I was just another resident, another predator in the natural order. I killed a simple rabbit for survival, just like any other creature needing meat would.

I walked for about two hours, wondering if there was any point to continuing when, finally, a sight that seemed like a gift from the heavens appeared in the distance. A camp. Two tents, colorful and... small. Too small. Were they kids camping? Or maybe this place just had really tiny people.

After ten minutes, I reached the campsite. It looked deserted, and the tents were even tinier up close. Definitely not adult-sized. Maybe some tiny boy scouts were out here proving themselves? But what kind of parent lets their kids camp alone in the middle of the woods? And on a Tuesday, no less... Or was it Tuesday? I was losing track of time.

“Hello? Anyone here?” I called out awkwardly as I peeked inside one of the tents. Empty. But there were supplies—small containers with fruits, vegetables, and even mini cupcakes. Great. I could only hope the owners would share a bit when they returned.

One thing caught my eye as I rummaged—a book. Or at least, it looked like a children’s book. It was way too small, barely fitting in my hand. Who brings a book this tiny on a camping trip? Some scout manual? The cover had colorful horses—unicorns, pegasi, and regular ones, although the "regular" ones were anything but normal. With their bright colors and huge eyes, they looked more like something from a sugary fever dream. The text inside? Totally foreign. The script was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Worried, I stepped outside the tent. If I was right, communication was going to be a massive barrier here. And if this really was some scout camp, imagine the panic when their kids came back to find a strange man who couldn't even speak their language.

Looking around for any signs of the campers, I froze when I glanced across the river. In the distance, barely noticeable, were two small, colorful horses. One was navy blue, the other a light magenta, smaller than the first. I stared, my mind racing. Were... were those the mythical, rainbow-colored horses? Were unicorns and pegasi real?

I was overwhelmed, confused, and just a little bit freaked out. These horses were tiny, so they had to be foals, right? And yet, they looked scared, like they were nervous about something. Worse, they were looking right at me. I instinctively turned around, half-expecting some predator behind me, but nope—nothing. So... they were afraid of ME.

“C’mon, I won’t hurt ya,” I called out, doing my best cowboy impression, throwing in some tongue clicks like I’d seen in Red Dead Redemption 2.

The smaller one seemed curious but hesitant. I could tell it wanted to cross the river, but the bigger one held it back, gently, with a hoof. Was that normal? Were they siblings? I had no idea how horses worked, but I knew they liked sugar and apples. That gentle motion, though... it felt off.

Ignoring them for the time being, I settled by the campfire to wait. Whoever owned the camp had to come back eventually.

Hours passed, and the owners still hadn’t shown up. Meanwhile, those two little horses stayed where they were. The bigger one looked restless, while the smaller one had curled up between its legs, like a scared child.

With no sign of the campers, I decided to hunt something less questionable than another rabbit. No need to find out if they’re intelligent. I spotted a bird, a plump pigeon-sized one, and wiped my sweaty palms. Not that it was hot out—I was just nervous. I’ve never killed anything before yesterday, and now I was about to add another life to my tally. Holding my breath, I hurled a rock with all my might, striking the bird in the side and watching it fall.

I sprinted toward it, hearing its frantic flapping before its body hit the ground. I went for my rock, but the bird, still alive, was trying to escape. Panic surged through me, and, without thinking, I stomped on its head a few times. The sensation was awful. Guilt gnawed at me. This was nothing like how movies or games portrayed it. If it felt anything like this, no one would ever find it fun.

Once the bird stopped moving, I grabbed it, along with my stone, and returned to the camp. Feeling emotionally drained, I was at least glad I wouldn’t have to steal food from the campers—whenever they showed up. The two little horses were still there, the bigger one now inside one of the tents, while the smaller one was playing with some rocks. It glanced up at me, its gaze a mix of fear and curiosity.

Up close, I realized how tiny it really was—barely up to my knees. It looked so scared that I crouched down and gently reached out to pet it.

To my surprise, it liked it. As I scratched behind its ear, it even seemed to relax. I got some blood on it, but it didn’t care. The soothing sensation of my hand seemed to calm it more than anything. It would’ve made a cute pet.

Then, I heard a sharp whinny from the bigger horse, followed by a softer sound from the little one, like they were communicating. Do horses even do that? It was kind of cute, honestly. But the bigger one seemed to panic after that, darting out of the tent like it had seen a ghost.

I tried to calm it down, reaching out to pet it too, but instead, I got a swift kick to the stomach that knocked the wind right out of me. “Damn horse,” I groaned, collapsing to my knees, gasping for breath as both horses bolted, running far faster than their size should’ve allowed. The last thing I saw was the smaller one, giving me this sad look.

“What the hell is this place?” I muttered, still rubbing my aching stomach. “Why are all the animals so weird and creepy?” First the semi-intelligent rabbit, now these strange, miniature horses with human-like emotions...

"And who the hell brands a horse with a tent symbol?" I wasn’t an expert on horses, but this wasn’t any kind of branding I’d ever seen. Then again, I wasn’t even sure these things were horses. Not the kind I knew. The ones I’d seen didn’t look like they were designed by a sugar-high kid with crayons.

Once I caught my breath, I sat down to pluck the bird. Ideally, I’d boil water to make it easier, but I didn’t have anything for that, so I had to do it by hand with my trusty sharp rock, my only real tool in this godforsaken place. After what felt like forever, night fell, and I was starving. I set the bird over the fire and, annoyed and sore, I went back to the tent and devoured some of the food from the containers while I waited for the bird to cook.

At this point, I didn’t care if the campers returned. As far as I was concerned, they’d abandoned this place, or something bad had happened to them. I’d been here all day, and no sign of them. That would explain the lack of larger supplies—just some fruit, veggies, and, weirdly, cupcakes.

I picked one up, noticing how tiny it was. It fit perfectly in my palm. A mini-mini cupcake, if you will. I took a bite, thinking at least I had something to comfort me after this awful start to the week. Then it hit me: "Great. Now I’m probably going to get diabetes too."

The greatest enemy of natural sculptors

I was strolling through the bustling market of Ponyville, a content smile gracing my face as I made my way toward the flower stand. I had set aside a collection of the most exquisite and rare blooms with Lily and Rose, florists renowned for their beautiful arrangements. These flowers were especially rare, as they could only be found deep within the dangerous Everfree Forest. Naturally, they came at a higher price, but it was a price I was more than happy to pay. Beauty, after all, is worth every bit.

As I approached the stand, something seemed off. Only Rose was there, tending the stall, and that was quite unusual—Lily and Rose were practically inseparable. A nagging sense of curiosity tugged at me, but I brushed it aside, chalking it up to coincidence, and approached with my usual cheer.

"Hello, darling! I do hope you're having a fabulous day," I greeted her with my signature charm.

Rose glanced up, offering a weary smile. “Hey, Rarity… I hope you’re having a good day too.” Her voice lacked its usual spark, sounding tired—no, drained. It was unsettling, especially since she was surrounded by her favorite roses, which usually filled her with joy.

I blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Ah, well, dear, I’m here to pick up the flowers I reserved on Monday. You know, the exquisite blue ones from the Everfree? I’m planning to create the most stunning ensemble, and I think those flowers will add the perfect touch!” My excitement bubbled as I imagined the dress, but that anticipation quickly faltered when Rose returned—not with the flowers—but with a bag of bits larger than the one I had left.

Her expression was regretful, and there was something else there, something grim. “I’m sorry, Rarity. Lily went to the Everfree to gather them, but she… something happened to her, and she couldn’t bring them back. Here are your bits, with a little extra for the inconvenience.”

For a moment, I just stood there, processing her words. My excitement drained. “Oh, dear,” I said softly, concern replacing my earlier joy. “No need to worry about the bits, darling. Lily can keep them, really. But… what happened to her? Is she hurt?” A pang of guilt stirred within me—after all, she had ventured into that dreadful forest because of my request.

Rose hesitated, her eyes downcast. “She’s physically fine, but she’s… shaken. She saw something out there, Rarity. Something awful.”

“Wait…” I narrowed my eyes, a hint of skepticism slipping through. “She didn’t see that ‘Everfree bear in clothes,’ did she? You know, the one Mountain’s always going on about? I’m sure it’s just a trick he uses to drum up business for Nightmare Night.”

Rose shook her head slowly, her weariness deepening. “No, Rarity. Lily was terrified when she came back. And… she had blood on her face.”

I felt a wave of nausea roll through me. “Blood? On her face?” My voice came out shakier than I intended. "So... that bear, it's real then? A wild bear rampaging through the Everfree, crushing the heads of animals?”

Rose’s eyes darted around, her voice dropping as though speaking of it too loudly would summon it. “Lily didn’t say it was a bear. She said it’s… something else. And yes… it seems to like crushing heads.”

A cold shiver crawled down my spine. “So… it’s not a bear?”

Rose shook her head again, her face pale. “No. At least, not according to Lily. She said… it stands on two legs, like a bear, yes, but… not in the way you’d think. It’s always on its hind legs.”

“Always?” I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. “It just walks around like that? All the time? Its hind legs must be incredibly strong! So… it’s more like a bird?”

Rose hesitated, clearly unnerved by the image she was forming in her own mind. “No, not like that at all. Lily said it was… something different. She said its head was… square.”

“Square?!” I gasped, my hoof instinctively going to my own perfectly coiffed mane. The very thought of such a bizarre creature was… unsettling, to say the least.

Rose swallowed hard before continuing. “And apparently… it can camouflage itself. Like, it pretends to be a small animal.”

“Camouflage? Good heavens, how?” I was now fully engrossed in the story, though dread was starting to gnaw at me.

Rose’s voice grew softer, her eyes downcast as if recalling Lily’s harrowing recount. “Lily was out there, gathering your flowers, when she started hearing strange noises. At first, she didn’t think much of it, but as she kept walking, the sounds grew louder. Horrible, unnatural noises.”

I felt my heart rate pick up. “What kind of noises?” I asked, already regretting the question.

“Lily said she heard this… rhythmic thudding, like something being struck over and over. And… screaming. Not like any animal scream, but something… primal. Like a cry of pain.”

I shuddered, picturing the scene. “So, she went to investigate?” I asked, even though I knew Lily wasn’t the type to ignore such sounds.

Rose nodded, her face grim. “She saw it, Rarity. She saw that thing, standing over a cockatrice.” Rose’s voice trembled as she continued, her eyes wide with fear. “Lily said she watched it beat the cockatrice in the face with a rock. Over and over… even after it stopped moving.”

My eyes widened in shock. “A cockatrice?! Surely you’re mistaken. Once the cockatrice looks at something, it’s supposed to turn to stone.”

“That’s the thing,” Rose whispered, her voice trembling. “Lily said… it didn’t turn to stone. That thing—whatever it is—it’s immune to the cockatrice’s gaze.”

I felt my stomach drop. “Immune?” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper. “But how? That’s not possible!”

“I asked the same thing,” Rose continued, her tone growing more tense with each word. “Lily said she was close enough to see it with her own eyes. That thing was looking right at the cockatrice, and it was… smiling.”

“No… no, that’s impossible!” My voice shook with disbelief. “Something that can’t be petrified by a cockatrice? That’s… that’s monstrous!”

“I know…” Rose continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “I asked Lily if maybe the creature had its eyes closed… maybe it was just lucky. But she said no. She was right there, close enough to see everything. She said the creature’s eyes were wide open. And it wasn’t just immune. It enjoyed it. She saw it… enjoy that, Rarity.”

I gasped, unable to fathom the horror of such a sight. “But… why didn’t Lily run? Why did she just stand there and watch?” The idea of staying in such a dreadful situation was beyond comprehension.

Rose’s voice cracked, her gaze haunted. “Lily was paralyzed with fear. She said her body wouldn’t move… she was just frozen, watching that thing… smash the cockatrice’s head in. Over and over. Until… it was nothing.”

I covered my mouth with a hoof, horrified. “Dear Celestia…” I whispered. “What happened next?”

Rose shivered. “It got up, still covered in blood, and… it laughed. Or maybe it growled. Lily couldn’t tell. But then… it saw her.”

My heart skipped a beat. “It… saw her?” I could barely breathe. “But she escaped, right? How?”

Rose nodded slowly. “It saw her. She said after it finished with the cockatrice, it stood up and looked right at her. She said it was… laughing, or… maybe growling? She wasn’t sure. But then it bent down, like it wanted to… touch her face.”

I covered my mouth in shock. “Sweet Celestia… that thing… that thing wants to crush everything’s head, doesn’t it?”

“Lily told me she was sure it would’ve done the same thing to her…"

I felt my legs tremble beneath me. “By Celestia… what would it have done if it caught her?” The thought of that… creature trying to touch Lily’s face with those… tiny spider legs as Mountain say it has. It was unbearable.

Rose shuddered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Luckily, she regained control of her legs and ran. But… she left the flowers behind.”

I waved a hoof dismissively, though my heart was pounding. “The flowers don’t matter, darling. What matters is that Lily is safe. If there’s anything I can do to help her… anything at all, you must let me know.”

Rose gave me a small, weary nod. “Thank you, Rarity. I’ll let you know if she needs anything.”

With a final nod, I turned and left the market, my mind swirling with horror at what I had just heard. As I walked toward the spa to calm my frazzled nerves, I couldn’t help but glance toward the looming Everfree Forest. A cold, creeping chill ran down my spine, urging me to quicken my pace.

Whatever was in that forest… was no ordinary beast.

Author's Note

This is a new experiment in how I'm sharing the story, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Do you prefer starting with the perspective of our dear human, or would you rather begin with the viewpoint of the poor, terrified ponies?

Which would you like to see first—ignorance or misinformation?:duck:

Third day

Day three. By now, the novelty of being lost in some pastel fever dream had worn off. Yesterday was a disaster compared to the first day, and that's saying something. A stupid, overly vibrant horse had kicked the wind out of me, leaving a bruise right where my stomach should’ve been, along with my pride scattered somewhere in the dirt. At least, there was the smaller one—more chill, even friendly. Guess I'll give these bizarre creatures the benefit of the doubt... for now.

After the mess of yesterday, though, I slept like a king, all things considered. Two tiny tents shoved together, yeah, it’s not exactly a palace, but it was better than the cold, unforgiving dirt. Had some blankets too, so I was all wrapped up like a human burrito—comfort I didn’t know I missed.

But here’s the deal: as cozy as that makeshift camp was, it wasn’t going to do me any favors in finding civilization. Not if I just lay around all day.

Dragging myself out of the tent felt like a chore, but I had to. First stop: the river. The cool water slapped me awake as I washed off the previous day's grime. My reflection—well, it was... festive. My shirt was now a permanent Halloween decoration with all the blood smeared on it. Great. Anyone who sees me will probably think I’m some kind of psycho. Which... isn’t that far off, considering I ended a bird just to make it through yesterday along with the food left by potential boy scouts from the tents I now own. Funny how survival brings out a side of you, you didn’t think you had.

Today, though, I was ready to explore. I grabbed a blanket and tied it to a stick, just like those hobo bindles you see in cartoons. It seemed easy enough, and to my surprise, it actually worked. Packed some extra blankets, a container of food, and that strange, incomprehensible book. Couldn’t leave it behind—it’s weird, but it might be important.

Now, I needed a landmark. Across the river, I spotted a mountain—a weird one, with jagged rocks and a cave near the top. Looked familiar in a way, like the one from that old movie with the lion. So, I dubbed it Mount Simba. With my new ‘landmark’ to guide me, I set off, hoping to stumble across a town or village.

Walking turned out to be boring. Really boring. I’d been hiking for hours. Birds sang in the distance, rabbits darted around, but... wait. Now the rabbits were keeping their distance. Before, they didn’t mind me. Now? They couldn’t run fast enough. Definitely avoiding me. Probably wise.

To kill the silence, I started singing one of those stupid work songs I’d hum at the office. It’s not like anyone was around to judge. But as soon as my voice echoed, the animals scattered. Birds went silent. It was like my voice had a built-in animal repellent feature. Weird.

Maybe the word’s out. Maybe those small horses I saw yesterday spread the news. I doubt it. There weren’t any around here anyway. Not that I’d seen. Things were just... off.

Time blurred after a while. My shoes were starting to feel the brunt of all this walking—definitely not made for a survival trek in some strange fantasy forest. The last thing I needed was to lose my only footwear. That’d be just my luck.

Then, I heard it—a sound that nearly made me jump out of my skin: a chicken. It seemed so random, but immediately, my mind latched onto the idea of a farm, maybe a cabin. Someone—anyone—who could help me! Finally, a chance to get out of this nightmare.

I rushed toward the sound, desperate to find its source. But when I finally saw it... I stopped dead in my tracks. It wasn’t just any chicken.

Standing before me was... well, I don’t know what the hell it was. A dragon? A chicken? Both? It had the head of a chicken, wings and body of a dragon, and a tail to match. It was bigger than a rabbit but smaller than one of those pastel horses. What was this place, seriously?

The chicken-dragon thing stared at me with these blood-red eyes that would make my grandma cross herself and throw holy water at it. We both just... stared at each other. I had a rock in hand, just in case. Minutes passed, the staring contest continued. What was its deal?

“Uh... hey, little guy,” I said, crouching down a bit. “You... smart?” I reached out cautiously, half-expecting it to react like the horse from yesterday. But no. It just stared. Stared with such intensity that it almost felt... personal. Five minutes of this. My skin crawled.

Eventually, I just stood up. “Alright, well, I’ve got places to be,” I muttered, turning to leave. But the creature clucked, almost confused. Like, really confused. I looked back, and those big red eyes were... lost. What was it even doing? This place was seriously messed up.

Shrugging it off, I took a few steps forward, only to hear more frantic clucking behind me. Before I could react, the thing charged at me, pecking and clawing at my leg like it was possessed.

“What the hell! Get off me!” I kicked out gently, just trying to shoo it away, but that only pissed it off more. It attacked harder, wings flapping in my face, claws scratching at anything it could reach.

I tried running, hoping it’d get bored and stop. I wasn’t going to kill it. Not unless I absolutely had to. I still had my limits. But this thing was relentless. It went for my face, managing to scratch my cheek. My patience was running thin. I kicked out again, a bit harder this time, but that just fueled its fury.

“What’s your problem!? Didn’t you just have some existential crisis back there!?” I shouted, trying to reason with a creature that clearly wasn’t reasonable. But it kept coming, slashing, biting, driving me up the wall. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Finally, I snapped. I spun around quickly, catching the creature off guard. It leaped at my face again, but this time, I was ready. With a single, hard swing, I brought the rock in my hand down, catching the thing mid-jump. I felt something crack. It dropped to the ground, twitching, trying to recover.

But I wasn’t done yet.

"Not so brave now, are you?!" I shouted as I lunged toward the creature. Stone in hand, I brought it down on its head repeatedly. "You like that? How about your existential crisis now?! You won’t even be able to make that stupid face anymore!" I yelled, each strike fueled by the anger boiling inside me. I had tried to be kind, but this thing attacked me. I didn’t know if it was actually smart, but this... this was the last straw. This creature became the target of all the rage and frustration that had been building up over these last few hellish days.

Lost in my thoughts and rage, I kept hammering away at it, the rhythm of the stone pounding in sync with my fury. But then... the sound changed. It no longer had that sickening crunch. It startled me out of my trance. I realized—I wasn't even hitting the creature's head anymore. I was pounding the ground.

"Shit!" I scrambled back, the weight of what I'd done hitting me like a punch in the gut. My face, my clothes, my hands—they were smeared with blood and bits of... something. Even my trusty rock was stained, though thankfully still intact. But the same couldn’t be said for the creature... or whatever it used to be.

If I hadn’t seen its body before, I would’ve thought it was a baby dragon or some lizard whose head had been brutally smashed to bits. Nothing was left of it. Just a bloody mess where a head used to be.

"What... what did I do? It was... it was just an animal. I just... I took my anger out on an animal." Back home, I wasn’t some saint, but I sure as hell wasn’t a monster. I was against animal cruelty! I even tried going vegetarian once—couldn't stick with it because, well, meat tasted too damn good. But now? "You're supposed to be civilized, smart... and look at you. More savage than an animal," I muttered, dropping the stone, the guilt creeping up my spine like ice.

“It wasn’t my fault... It attacked me first… I—I tried to be gentle! I even petted it. I didn’t want to hurt it,” I tried to reason with myself, but nothing made sense. One minute, these animals seem intelligent, almost human in a way. The next, they’re dumb enough to attack something bigger than them. What the hell was wrong with this place?

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I muttered under my breath. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I didn’t even know why. Crying over an animal? It wasn’t even just an animal—it was a monster! A hybrid freak! My heart raced, confusion gnawing at me. Where am I? What is this insane place?

I started laughing. A broken, bitter laugh. I had just defended myself from a creature that attacked me out of nowhere, and here I was, mourning it like I’d killed someone. It made no sense, yet I couldn’t stop the nervous, desperate laughter bubbling up from my chest.

With shaky hands, I got to my feet, wiped the blood from my face, and picked up my stone. I needed to calm down. Maybe... maybe I should start making a mental bestiary. Dragon-chickens? Definitely on the list as a neutral creature—unless provoked. Easy enough to handle if you kept your cool.

But as I scanned my surroundings, I caught sight of something that made my heart drop. Another one of those absurdly colorful horses. This one was has pink fur and a bright yellow mane. Its appearance was almost painful to look at in the middle of all this chaos. A flower sat in its mane, and its... flank—yeah, flank—was marked with three little white flowers. Seriously, who tattoos these miniature horses? And worse, it was carrying a basket full of more flowers. Again with the baskets. Was there some floral delivery service I didn’t know about?

And just my luck—it had seen the whole thing. Either that, or I couldn’t explain the sheer terror in its stupidly huge eyes. There was even a little blood splattered on its face. It must’ve seen my outburst.

"Hey... girl... or whatever you are. It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you," I said, keeping my voice calm as I crouched down, trying to reach out and pet its nose like I did with the last one. Maybe, just maybe, this one would let me make peace. But as soon as I moved closer, it bolted, whinnying in pure panic. It left its basket behind, and honestly, that was a win for me. I could use something to carry supplies.

With a sigh, I decided to call it a day. Mount Simba was still in view, so at least I could find my way back to camp. As I walked, I passed the spot where I had encountered that creature. Its nest was nearby, and among the twisted branches, there were... statues? Tiny, detailed sculptures of rabbits and birds. Was this thing an artist? Maybe it stole them from some unlucky sculptor. Either way, I grabbed a small rabbit statue, don't blame me, it looked very detailed and well made, it could easily be worth hundreds of dollars.

I also noticed that if I stayed quiet, the animals seemed a little calmer, just like they were on my first day here. With that in mind, I attempted to hunt a couple of rabbits. Easier said than done—they were fast. I missed every single shot. These creatures were maddeningly quick. I wasn’t sure if I should be frustrated with my failure or relieved, considering I still didn’t know how smart they were. At least my trusty rock hadn’t shattered, though. I’d grown weirdly attached to it, and it’d be a shame if I had to replace it. But I knew it wouldn’t last forever, so tomorrow, I’d have to find or make a new one just as good.

While failing to catch any rabbits, I accidentally hit a small tree with one of my throws. A nest fell to the ground, eggs cracking open as they hit the dirt. "Eureka!" I thought. I’d just found a new food source. So, I started chucking rocks at any low-hanging nests I saw. I took a few pecks from the angry birds, but I managed to collect six eggs, some bigger than others, but all definitely eggs.

By the time I returned to camp, night had fallen, and I sat by the fire, staring at the eggs. I wasn’t an athlete, so I had no idea why some people ate raw eggs. But with no way to cook them that I knew of, I cracked them open and gulped them down, trying not to spill any. One egg had a half-formed bird inside. The sight made my stomach turn, but I couldn’t waste food—not after everything I’d been through. I couldn’t let its death mean nothing, so I cooked it lightly and forced it down.

After the meal, still queasy but determined, I pulled out that strange book. I didn’t have a pen, but with the edge of one of my keys and the bit of dried blood left on my rock, I started sketching out a bestiary. A grotesque method, sure, but it worked.

"I miss video games... I’m definitely swearing off survival games after this. They’re not as fun anymore. If I make it back home, I’m buying The Sims 4."

This was only day three. How many more of these ridiculous days lay ahead?

Author's Note

First of all, I just want to say thank you! I never expected this story to gain so much attention, and we've literally made it into the featured section—seriously, thank you so much! I hope you're all enjoying the ride.

Now, I wanted to touch on a few points, starting with the human's aim. Don't worry, I've patched and nerfed his over-the-top accuracy. But every now and then, he might still have a lucky throw.

Secondly, our human character isn't some survival expert. At best, he knows some basic concepts, ideas, and survival tips—many of which might be flat-out wrong, dangerous, or even useless. He was just a regular guy who had recently started working, waiting for the next video game or movie release, and hanging out with his friends to party. That's it.

Aside from that, I hope you're all excited for what's coming next. I’ll likely be making a few time skips here and there—unless, of course, you want to torture me and see every single day, which might get a bit repetitive. But at the very least, expect summaries packed with commentary, interesting events, and the growth of our protagonist. Meanwhile, the ponies will continue to spread new rumors, spot sightings of the Everfree creature, and fuel the gossip all across Equestria—and maybe even beyond.

One last thing: just like the previous chapter, would you rather see the perspective of the ponies first, or start with our dear human?

Remember, I love reading your comments, ideas, and suggestions. If you spot any errors or flaws, or if you've got feedback to share, don't hesitate to mention it. See you in the next chapter!

What a bizarre week, isn't it?

I was lying on a cloud, taking a small break after a long, tiring day with the weather team. This week has been absolutely crazy, especially with Fluttershy and this whole "Everfree monster" situation. She’s been taking it pretty hard, honestly. I get that she loves all her little critters and stuff, but come on—it’s the Everfree Forest. Weird stuff lives there.

She keeps saying that thing isn’t natural, though. Like, yeah, she knows it's normal for a bear, a fox, or even an eagle to hunt and eat other animals, but she claims this thing is... wrong. Unnatural. The way it smashes nests, uses tools, wears clothes, and crushes heads—that's not normal at all, according to her.

I don’t know what to tell her. I mean, I’m no expert on that stuff. My thing is speed, awesomeness, becoming a Wonderbolt! Someday, I’ll be leading them, and when I am, maybe then we’ll deal with a monster. Now that would be a story.

"Hey Rainbow, how’s the coolest pegasus in all of Equestria?"

I blinked, pulled out of my thoughts by a familiar voice. “Gilda! What’s up? What brings you to Ponyville?” I said, sitting up on my cloud and spotting my friend Gilda—the best griffon in all of Equestria, or maybe the only one that matters, really.

“Nothing much, just thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to hang out. The other griffons are a total bore.”

Hanging out with Gilda? That would be awesome. “That sounds great, but I can’t right now. I’m doing a favor for a friend, and I kinda need to stick around this area.” I really did want to hang out, but Fluttershy had asked if I could keep an eye on things near her cottage. She’s been terrified of that monster lately, and... well, I couldn’t just say no to her.

“Come on, Dash. Don’t be a snooze! What, are you one of those slow pegasi now, the ones who only care about weather schedules?”

I scoffed, puffing out my chest. “What? Of course not! I’ll never be one of those slowpokes. It’s just... I told you, I’m doing a favor for a friend!”

Gilda raised an eyebrow. “A favor that involves napping on a cloud? Seriously, Dash. Let’s go do something fun!”

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. “Look, there’s a monster in the Everfree Forest,” I said, pointing towards the dark, ominous trees. “A giant, head-crushing monster. And no, I’m not making this up. That’s why I’m sticking around here, to protect and keep an eye on the area where my friend lives.”

“A monster in the Everfree, huh? Sounds like some kind of game.”

“It’s not a game, Gilda. I haven’t seen it myself, but there’s been a lot of tension in Ponyville lately because of it. Just give it a week, let everypony calm down, and then we’ll hang out, okay?”

Gilda rolled her eyes but gave a shrug. “Fine, Dash. I’ll head back to Griffonstone for now. Guess I’ll at least return with a juicy rumor. See ya later, Dash.”

And just like that, she flew off, leaving me alone on my cloud again. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Gilda always wanted excitement, but I had to stay loyal to Fluttershy. Not just for her, but... honestly, this whole monster thing was starting to get under my feathers too.

I stood in the classroom, a beaming smile on my face as I finally took my place at the front of the room. I had been given the job—finally, I was going to be a teacher! The previous teacher had retired, and when the position opened, I eagerly accepted it. I knew it might be a little strange for the foals to have a new teacher this early in the school year, especially with Nightmare Night right around the corner, but I was determined to make a positive impact.

As the little colts and fillies filed into the room, my heart swelled with joy. This was it—my chance to shape young minds, to be a guiding light for these impressionable foals. The first lesson went well. I introduced myself, and as I spoke with enthusiasm, I could see the curiosity and excitement in their eyes. They weren’t uneasy about having a new teacher, and that made me feel so relieved. The foals of Ponyville are always so welcoming, after all. It's a small town with only one schoolhouse, which meant I was teaching a mixed class with students of different ages. But that’s the charm of a close-knit place like this—everypony learns together, side by side, finding their special path, guided by their cutie marks.

The morning had gone smoothly, and I found myself thinking how lucky I was. The foals were bright, cheerful, and eager to learn. Everything was perfect… or so I thought.

Then, it was time for recess.

I sat on a bench outside, enjoying a light breakfast as I watched the foals play in the schoolyard. The crisp autumn air was refreshing, and for a moment, I felt at peace. But then, my attention was drawn to a small group gathered around one of the younger colts, Safe Camp. He was standing in the middle of the circle, animatedly telling a story. I couldn’t quite hear the details, but from the looks on the other foals’ faces, it was clear he had their full attention.

Curious, I moved a little closer and soon realized what he was talking about. Safe Camp was trying to convince the others that the supposed monster in the Everfree Forest wasn’t bad—that it was, in fact, friendly.

My stomach tightened.

We’d been strictly instructed not to talk about the monster with the children. The events surrounding it had been far too gruesome, too... unnatural. It was a topic no foal should be burdened with, let alone discuss so freely. As I approached, I could feel an uncomfortable knot forming in my chest. I gently interrupted Safe Camp, reminding him that stories like that weren’t appropriate for recess, especially with younger foals around.

He nodded, somewhat reluctantly, and I returned to my bench. But the uneasy feeling lingered.

Not even a minute later, Safe Camp resumed his tale, determined to explain that the monster wasn’t harmful. He even claimed that it had scratched behind his ear and that it felt amazing, but his dad had misinterpreted the whole thing. My ears perked up at the words. Some of the other foals chimed in, arguing with him. They brought up how the creature had been seen carrying a headless bird in its claws, how it was covered in blood, and how it seemed to be crushing things wherever it went.

I felt my heart sink.

The joyful excitement I’d felt earlier began to unravel into worry. These innocent foals, who should be thinking about fun stories and happy endings, were talking about something far darker than any of the usual Nightmare Night tales. These were real fears—fears rooted in something horrifying that had invaded their innocent world. And now, I understood why the previous teacher had left.

How could I possibly explain to them what had happened? How could I tell them about this creature—a being so violent, so different from anything we’d ever known? Even as an adult, I couldn’t make sense of it. Yes, there have always been scary stories—about a bear breaking a unicorn’s horn, or a young foal getting lost in the woods—but those are tales of caution, nothing like this. Nothing like the bloodshed these foals had witnessed or heard about.

We live in a world of harmony, of friendship, where Princess Celestia watches over us all, ensuring peace and safety. But this... this was something else entirely. This monster—this creature—came from a place beyond our understanding, a place without our kindness, without our balance. The very thought of it chilled me to the bone.

I realized, sitting there on that bench, that it would fall to me to help these young ones navigate the fear and confusion they were feeling. I would have to help them understand that the actions of this cruel, bloodthirsty creature were not a reflection of our world, not a part of the Equestria we know.

But how? How do you teach foals that monsters don't exist? How do you reassure them that everything will be alright when even I wasn’t so sure?

I glanced back at the foals, still clustered around Safe Camp. Their innocence was already slipping away, tainted by something they never should have had to encounte

I sat slumped at my desk, staring at the pile of unfinished reports scattered across the surface. The weekly report on Ponyville’s events was due tomorrow, and my mind was stuck in a frustrating fog. Twirling a quill absentmindedly between my hooves, I tried to gather my thoughts. This week had been the most chaotic, bizarre, and utterly exhausting one I had faced in my entire time as mayor.

It had started with the exciting news that Ponyville was selected to host the upcoming Summer Sun Celebration. Princess Celestia herself would be gracing our humble town! It was an incredible honor, but also an enormous burden. Ponyville had to be spotless, perfect—everything had to be absolutely flawless for the princess’s arrival.

And of course, just when we needed everything to run smoothly, that’s when it appeared—the so-called "monster" from the Everfree Forest. Naturally, I expected some hiccups; every now and then, a timberwolf or a stray manticore wanders too close to town. But this... this was something else entirely.

It started with a single report from Mountain Trail. I dismissed it as an isolated incident at first, but then Lyla came in, trembling, describing nearly the same thing: a horrifying creature, drenched in blood, crushing heads. That was when the rumors really began to snowball. More and more ponies came to me, each with increasingly fantastical tales. Some spoke of the creature with wings, glowing red eyes, or even horns. It became difficult to separate fact from foalish fiction.

But the reports from Mountain, Lyla, and Fluttershy were the most alarming—they all aligned disturbingly well. The stories they told weren’t just the stuff of nightmares; they were brutal, violent, and grotesque beyond anything we had ever encountered. Mountain was so shaken, he considered closing his business entirely. Lyla, normally so confident, refused to step hoof near the Everfree, despite her love for the wildflowers that grow there. The other ponies? Well, their lives carried on mostly as normal, but I could sense the fear creeping in.

Adding to the chaos, a researcher from Canterlot University arrived on Monday to study the timberwolves. I had hoped he’d stick to his work, but word spread that he’d returned from the forest pale as a ghost, sprinting back to the train station. If there had been any hope of keeping this whole "monster" affair under wraps, that was gone now.

I sighed deeply, rubbing my temples as my frustration boiled over. It wasn’t enough that we had to prepare for Celestia’s visit, but now this? A bloodthirsty beast threatening to ruin everything? The only option left was to find a way to downplay the creature’s existence, to soften the details for the official report. But how? How could I even begin to explain what this thing might have done?

“Mayor Mare, may I come in?”

The muffled voice of my assistant, Write List, came from outside the door. I straightened up, trying to regain a semblance of professionalism.

“Yes, come in,” I replied, as calmly as I could manage.

Write List stepped inside, a concerned look on her face. “Are you alright? You’ve seemed tense lately.”

“I’m fine,” I said, though I knew I didn’t sound very convincing. “It’s just this report. Normally, it’s easy enough, but with our... recent troublesome visitor, things have become a bit more complicated.”

“I can imagine,” she replied sympathetically. “It must be difficult dealing with something like this. I’m actually surprised you’re not more afraid of the creature.”

“Well, I haven’t seen it myself, so I’m still a bit skeptical. Besides, if I lose my composure in front of everypony, it would only cause panic. I’m trying to stay as calm as Celestia would.”

Write List nodded but hesitated before speaking again. “Actually, Fluttershy gave me some new information about the creature today. And, well... it just keeps getting stranger.”

My patience was wearing thin. “Stranger how? Has it grown horns and wings now?” I asked, exasperated.

“No, nothing like that. You know how Fluttershy is with animals. She told me the birds mentioned something... different about the creature. Something that doesn’t seem possible, especially for a predator.”

I raised an eyebrow, signaling her to continue.

“Apparently, the monster bartered with a rabbit.”

I blinked in confusion. “Bartered? As in… made a trade with a rabbit?”

Write List nodded. “Yes, from what she says, it helped the rabbit cross the river, and afterward, the rabbit returned to its burrow with a sack.”

“For Celestia’s sake... are you sure it’s the same creature?”

“Fluttershy swears it is.”

I sighed deeply, my mind spinning. “So now this bloodthirsty beast is... running errands for bunnies. Fantastic. Do we even know what was in the sack?”

“No, Fluttershy said the birds are too scared to get close to the creature, and the rabbits won’t communicate with them.”

Write List hesitated before adding, “Also, she wants to withdraw her previous warning about the monster. She believes it might be more of a scared, confused creature—intelligent but violent due to fear.”

“Thank you for the update,” I muttered, rubbing my temples again. “It’s getting late. We should both head home.”

With that, I bid Write List goodnight, extinguished the candles, and locked away the papers. As I left the office, my mind was still buzzing with unease. Could this creature really be more than the terrifying beast everypony feared?

I didn’t have much time to ponder before a familiar voice broke my thoughts.

“Good evening, Mayor Mare! Busy week with the Everfree monster, huh?”

I turned to see Pinkie Pie, bouncing happily along the road. “Yes, Pinkie. Very busy,” I said, sighing. Pinkie always had a way of lifting spirits, but right now, I was just too tired.

“Do you mind if I take over the spotlight now?”

I blinked. “Spotlight? What spotlight?”

“You know! The focus, the attention! You’ve had it for long enough. Can I take it from here? Pretty please?”

I sighed again, too tired to even question her logic. “Sure, Pinkie. Take all the attention you want.”

Woohoo! My turn!

I hopped up and down, my pink mane bouncing along with me. Oh, this is gonna be so much fun! I whipped out a cupcake from my mane and handed it to Mayor Mare.

“Here, for your troubles!” I chirped before hopping off toward Sugarcube Corner. I couldn’t wait to get back to my cozy little nook upstairs. It’s been four whole years since I came to Ponyville, and it’s still the most super-duper-riffic place in all of Equestria!

When I first arrived, I was just a young filly, only sixteen, with nothing but a love for parties and a dream of making ponies smile. The Cakes took me in, and I’ve been helping them ever since. It’s kind of like we’re one big, happy family!

I bounced through the door of Sugarcube Corner, where Mrs. Cake was tidying up the bakery. “Evening, Mrs. Cake! Thanks again for letting me stay upstairs!” I called out.

Mrs. Cake chuckled. “Oh, Pinkie, you thank me every day! Just remember to clean up after yourself. Mr. Cake and I are making a nice flower salad for dinner. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Aww, thanks, Mrs. Cake! Is that for the future little Cake foals?”

Mrs. Cake blinked in confusion. “Future foals? What are you talking about?”

I grinned and waved a hoof. “Oh, nothing! Just a hunch! Have a great night!”

I skipped up to my room, excited as always. You see, I’ve got this super special ability! It’s like I can sense things, predict stuff about ponies and creatures and even what’s going to happen next! It’s my Pinkie Sense! Normally, I can feel a twitch or a tingle that tells me what’s coming.

But lately, there’s been something strange... that monster everypony’s talking about? My Pinkie Sense has been completely blank! Like... nothing! Usually, I’d get a little tail twitch or an ear flop, but this time? Zilch, nada, zippo! It’s like there’s nothing to predict at all!

It makes me kinda nervous... and that doesn’t happen often! If this creature ever comes to Ponyville, how am I supposed to know if it needs a Welcome to Ponyville Party or a surprise cupcake attack?

I flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even on the first day I tried to sense it, nothing happened. But then, out of nowhere, I had this random thought about a pony named Twilight Sparkle! I don’t know why, but I just knew we’d meet one day. And, ooh, I even got a craving for a lavender cupcake with sprinkles!

So I know I’m going to meet Twilight, and she’s going to be important somehow. But this monster? It’s like it’s hiding from my Pinkie Sense, and that’s super weird.

But you know what? I’ll figure it out! Whether it’s a monster or just a confused, big, scary creature, I’ll be ready. With cupcakes in hoof and smiles to spare!

The rhythmic clatter of the train beneath me should be soothing, a reminder of civilization pulling me further away from the madness of the Everfree Forest. But no, my heart pounds like a wild drum, and every time I glance at the window, the image of that... thing flashes before my eyes. What was that monstrous creature?

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the plush velvet doing little to ease my nerves. The usual comfort of Canterlot-bound trains feels alien, detached from the world I just escaped. I can still hear the sickening crunch of wood splitting under its blows, see the black ichor from the timberwolves staining the earth. No pony has ever seen something like that. Not even in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined a beast with that kind of power.

Timberwolves... they are beings bound by magic, with regenerative abilities that make them nearly impervious to most physical attacks. Even a skilled unicorn, one with precision and mastery over powerful spells, would struggle to bring down a single one. And yet, this... this creature—this thing with a bizarre form—tore through not one, but two of them. With its bare limbs!

"How?" I mutter under my breath, staring at my trembling hooves. My voice is a dry whisper in the empty cabin, drowned out by the sound of the train.

The memory of that twisted scene replays itself over and over. The timberwolves had circled the creature, their wooden jaws snapping, their glowing green eyes fixed on their prey. The largest one—a behemoth—charged first. It shattered the creature’s flimsy wooden spear in one bite, and I was certain that would be the end of it.

But no...

The thing, this grotesque creature with its strange upright stance, fought back. Not with magic, nor with any discernible skill. It was... barbaric. It roared—a sound so deep and primal it sent shivers through me even from where I was hiding—and then, using nothing but its limbs, it grabbed chunks of the timberwolf’s body. Somehow, it reached inside the wolf’s core, past its snapping jaws, and pulled. The creature pulled. Like it was tearing apart a loose collection of sticks.

"No magic... just... brute force," I say to myself, almost as if trying to convince my own senses that what I saw wasn't real. Impossible! That defies the very laws of nature!

Outside the train window, the landscape of Equestria rolls by—a beautiful contrast to the horrors I just witnessed. Rolling green fields and picturesque hills. Such peace, such harmony. How could I return to such a world after what I saw? The ponies here have no idea what lurks in that cursed forest. None of us do.

My thoughts swirl, sinking into an ever-growing spiral of confusion and dread. What sort of creature could have done that? Its anatomy was all wrong. It had no hooves, no claws like a manticore. Its limbs were covered in some sort of... appendages—long, thin digits that seemed designed to grasp, to crush. And its face! Its eyes weren’t like those of any predator I'd ever studied. Cold, calculating, but filled with a fire I can't even begin to understand. It wasn't just surviving... it was enjoying it.

I shudder, my breath growing quicker. Am I losing my mind?

The timberwolves, those nightmarish wooden beasts, had fled. Fled from it. I saw them try to escape, but the creature was relentless. It hurled fragments of the first wolf’s shattered body at the others, smashing them to pieces with such precision and force. It stomped on the second one, over and over, laughing—laughing!—until it was nothing more than splinters and black sludge.

What kind of monstrosity laughs while killing timberwolves?

My mind is unraveling. The facts don’t align with anything I’ve ever learned in Canterlot. I—I was going to stay there for a month. A month! What was I thinking? How foolish, how utterly arrogant of me to assume I could study those wolves with impunity. I fancied myself an expert, a scholar of dangerous creatures. But this... this thing? It’s beyond anything in my textbooks, beyond any known magic or creature. What if it had seen me? What if it turned its... those limbs on me? I'd be crushed in seconds.

I grip the seat beneath me, trying to steady myself as the train rattles on, each bump making me jump. Focus. Focus! I need to keep my composure. I’m an academic, a biologist, for Celestia’s sake! I must maintain professionalism. I’ll return to Canterlot, and they’ll... they'll listen to me, won’t they? The university will understand... right?

But... what if they don’t? What if they think I’m mad? I have no proof—no sketches, no samples. I left my camera behind, too terrified to go back for it. All I have is my word. Will they believe me? Or will they think I’ve gone insane, that the forest has twisted my mind like the countless ponies before me who’ve spent too long near the Everfree?

“No! No, I must remain composed! I can’t—”

I catch my reflection in the window—wild-eyed, sweating, my mane a mess. I barely recognize myself. My hooves tremble uncontrollably. Celestia help me, I think. Am I already going mad?

But it’s real. It’s all real. I know it. I saw it. This is the discovery of the century. Perhaps of all time. If I could just get back to Canterlot... if I could tell them, show them... We could capture it, study it. Yes, yes! We’ll be able to control it, find a way to combat the timberwolves!

I’ll be famous! Respected! Revered! “We’ll... we’ll be safe.”

But as the train rattles on, one thought gnaws at me—what if this is only the beginning? If this thing is capable of such violence, of such brutality... how long before it sets its sights on Ponyville? Or worse... on Canterlot?

I clutch the edge of my seat tightly, my breath quickening again.

“No... no... it can’t come to that. It won’t. It won’t.” But the fear lingers.

Tomorrow will be a week here, I think.

Well, it’s been one crazy week. I’ve learned a lot about this... strange place. And not just that, but I’ve finally decided it’s time for “Rocky” (yeah, I named the stone) to take a back seat. It’s time to get serious. I’ve taken the plunge into my “ancestral instincts” and sharpened not just one but several big sticks—some longer, some shorter. Spears and javelins, I guess. Honestly, I’m no expert at this kind of thing, but I’m trying to make do.

That wasn’t even the first thing I did though. No, first I decided it was time to find a proper base. And the reason? Pretty simple: I woke up the next day to see the sky covered in clouds, and that sight both calmed and terrified me. On one hand, those gray clouds were the most normal thing I’ve seen in this overly colorful, loud world. On the other hand, I knew rain could wreck my two tiny tents, so I needed to find some real shelter.

My mind immediately jumped to “Simba". It’s not just a hill, though. On top, there’s a cave! That’s my ticket to a proper hideout. But there’s a catch: Simba’s surrounded by a Y-shaped river, splitting in two directions like something out of an adventure flick.

Armed with Rocky and my hobo bindle (you know, the classic stick with a bundle tied at the end), I set out to explore. I didn’t want to waste energy on bad decisions, so I figured I’d take it slow. Crossing the river wasn’t too bad—I used some conveniently placed rocks as stepping stones. Soon, I was at the foot of the hill, staring up at Simba.

The climb was a bit tricky, but I managed. When I finally reached the top, I found a flat area, surprisingly spacious. But the real prize was the cave. Dark. Ominous. No strange smells, though, which I took as a good sign—at least no bear or dangerous creature had claimed it. I lit my lighter, hoping for a little light. It barely illuminated the entrance, but I took a deep breath and walked in, stone in hand, just in case.

I stayed along the wall, hugging it like my life depended on it. After about 15 minutes of cautious exploration, I realized the cave was just one huge room—no other tunnels, no hidden paths. Just a big empty space. A stroke of luck, honestly. But I couldn’t shake my nerves.

Then I did something... well, something stupid. Standing at the cave's entrance, I yelled, “HEY, MONSTER! COME OUT! I’M RIGHT HERE, YOU IDIOT!”

I waited, heart racing, eyes glued to the shadows. For ten whole minutes. And nothing. Just silence. The cave was, in fact, empty.

Still, I wanted to be sure. So, I headed back down to the river, gathered some dry branches and firewood, and climbed back up. I started a small fire inside the cave’s entrance. The light flickered, casting eerie shadows, but it lit up the cave enough for me to get a better look. It wasn’t exactly a mansion, but it was bigger than my old apartment—and way bigger than my two pitiful tents.

By the end of the day, I’d made four trips hauling everything from the tents up to Simba’s cave. That included my gear, food, and whatever else I could scavenge along the way. I even took a break to gather eggs and hunt—successfully, I might add. Now, all that’s left is figuring out how to store the food properly, and finding something green to eat—fruits or veggies. That’ll take time, though.

But hey, I’ve got a cave and some food. For now, I think I’m doing alright.

So, the next day, I set two grand objectives: upgrade my weapons and scout the area. Honestly, the cave—"Simba" as I’ve named it—is way better than camping down below. Sure, it means I’ve got to walk even further to fetch water now, but hey, I’ve got a view! A view of... forests. And more forests. Oh, and two giant mountains—one close by, and another far off on the horizon. Riveting stuff.

I kicked off the day by collecting long, thick sticks that looked sturdy enough, along with sharp, pointy rocks. Once I had my candidates, it was time to play caveman—trial and error! I hacked at the sticks, scraping off bark and sharpening them with a rough stone. After ruining a handful of them, I ended up with five decent ones. Two of them are long enough to be called spears while the other three were shorter, maybe more like javelins. I think. I’m still figuring this out.

This little arts-and-crafts session took up my entire morning and part of the afternoon, so naturally, the next step was exploring. I decided to divide the areas around Simba into four zones: left, right, front, and back. Simple enough. The right side and the front are cut off by the Y-shaped river, meaning if I want to get over there, I have no choice but to cross it. The left side and back, though, I can explore without getting wet, so I started with those.

I grabbed one of my new spears and set out to explore the left side of Simba. Something odd I noticed right away—the animals over here are way less skittish than the ones across the river. They don’t seem to be scared of me at all. It’s like they don’t know I exist. Except for the birds. Those little bastards? They don’t care who or what I am. Every time I walk near a tree, some bird, any bird, dives at me like I owe it money.

I think the river’s keeping my reputation in check. It’s like the small animals over here haven’t heard the rumors that I’m the local “monster.” The birds? They clearly don’t care about the river. Probably gossiping about me to anyone with wings.

It might actually be an advantage. I’ll be able to test out my theory about these semi-intelligent rabbits without too much interference. As I explored more along the riverbank, I noticed something interesting: on the side of the hill opposite the large river, there’s a swamp. Exciting, right? A whole new biome to explore! But I wasn’t ready to dive into that mess yet. It’s still too early for something so unfamiliar.

For now, I stuck with my plan to remain as anonymous as possible around the local critters. I moved away from Simba’s usual stomping grounds and decided to try my hand at fishing. Let me tell you, I had the most thrilling fishing experience. By that, I mean I caught jack all for a solid chunk of the day. Just me and my spear, stabbing at water like an idiot. Not gonna lie, at first, it was... a disaster. I spent way too much time jabbing my spear into the water without catching a single fish. I changed spots, hoping for better luck, but it was more of the same. Hours passed. My patience was wearing thin. But then, in a stroke of pure, dumb luck, I snagged my first fish—a decent-sized one too.

Oh, the joy. I must’ve looked like a caveman who discovered fire for the first time. I kept at it until dusk, bagging a few more fish before heading back to Simba. I made sure to stash them safely in my hobo bindle and even washed off a bit so that none of the “cute, innocent animals” would see what I’d caught. Who knows, maybe the damn fish are smart too.

Back at the cave, I built a decent fire—not too close to the entrance, though, because I don’t feel like suffocating in smoke. Here’s the kicker: I have no idea how to cook a whole fish. Back home, I bought fillets, already cleaned and ready to go. My mom knew how to cook whole fish, but did I ever bother learning? Nope. Regret? Definitely.

I started small, testing the waters with the tiniest fish first. Cooked it up, then tore it apart with my hands, shredding it into bite-sized pieces. Last thing I need is to choke on a bone that’s more like a culinary landmine. Honestly, the fish wasn’t bad. Not gourmet, but compared to the crap I’ve been eating lately? A damn feast.

The medium fish? Burned it. The biggest one turned out pretty decent, though. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention—I’ve repurposed my empty food containers into makeshift water holders. Now I don’t have to trudge down to the river at night just to get a drink. Small wins, right?

The next day, I had a plan—one that involved experimenting with the rabbits in this area where, apparently, they didn’t fear me as much as the ones across the river.

Armed with a bit of ash, I sketched out a rough drawing of a carrot and a potato in this strange notebook I’ve been using as both a bestiary and a journal. I didn’t expect this experiment to take long, so I grabbed one of my newly-made spears and climbed down from Simba Cave, heading toward the ground level.

Okay, I knew animals were scared of my voice, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of my apparent bad reputation or something else. I wasn’t about to risk them recognizing me as “the hunter or monster” again, so I decided to find a rabbit that looked preoccupied—one that wouldn’t notice me right away.

I watched several rabbits hopping around, all of them scurrying off the moment they sensed I was watching. But finally, I spotted one. This rabbit wasn’t like the others—it was carrying a tiny cloth bag and was busy gathering flowers. Feeling a bit nervous, I quietly approached from behind, slowly pulling out my notebook with the vegetable drawings. Gently, I tapped the rabbit on the back.

The rabbit turned around calmly at first, but when it saw me, its eyes widened in shock, and I could see its chest start to heave with panic. It hadn’t even looked at the drawing yet before bolting away in a blur of fur.

I hesitated for a second, wondering what to do. But then, I decided to follow it. I chased the rabbit for about five minutes, weaving through the trees, until it dove into a hole in the ground. And to my utter astonishment—there was a door. An actual door, like something straight out of a miniature hobbit hole.

Okay. Yeah. These rabbits are definitely intelligent. But if that’s the case, why don’t they have a proper village or something? Why are they scattered across the forest, vulnerable to hunters like me? Not that it matters right now. I leaned down cautiously and knocked on the door.

Without warning, the door flew open, and a carrot flew straight at my face. That was… unexpected. I guess I was hoping for a trade or something, not a vegetable projectile. I knocked again, and when the door opened to throw something else at me, I quickly blocked it with my hand and shoved the page with the drawings through the crack. Then I pulled my hand away and backed off, giving the rabbit some space.

Less than five minutes later, a nervous rabbit emerged from the burrow, clutching the paper with trembling paws. It hesitated before standing in front of me, its eyes wide with fear, but it timidly pointed at the carrot and potato drawings, then back at me. I nodded, trying to seem non-threatening.

To my surprise, the rabbit let out a small, weird but cute gesture—a sigh of relief, I think?

Suddenly, its ears twitched sharply, pointing in a specific direction. It seemed like the rabbit wanted me to follow. Still confused but curious, I followed along, keeping pace as the rabbit led the way. It was shy, but it seemed like it really wanted something, possibly a trade. Or maybe it was taking me to its vegetable stash?

We eventually reached the riverbank, and to my surprise, the rabbit hopped onto a series of stepping stones that led to the unexplored side of the forest—in front from simba. Carefully, I picked the rabbit up in my hands. It was clearly startled by the grip, but it didn’t resist. Instead, it clung to me with its tiny paws. I gently placed it on my right shoulder, spear in hand, and we crossed the river without any issues.

Once we reached the other side, I lowered the rabbit to the ground. It seemed positively thrilled, darting off to collect some purple flowers. Meanwhile, I noticed something interesting—vines. Or at least, they looked like vines. Natural ropes, perfect for what I needed. They were growing at the edge of a swamp, some with thorns, some without.

Excited, I grabbed one and tested its flexibility. To my delight, they were both tough and flexible—ideal for use as rope. I quickly started gathering as many as I could, using a sharp stone to cut them since my wooden spear wasn’t up to the task. Before I knew it, I had stuffed my pockets with shorter vines and wrapped the larger, thicker ones around my neck and shoulders.

Suddenly, I felt a tug at my ankle. Looking down, I saw the rabbit again, this time with its basket overflowing with purple, blue, and pink flowers.

I carefully picked up the rabbit, and it settled more easily into the tangle of vines around my shoulders. We headed back to the rabbit’s home, but along the way, something odd happened. The rabbit tried to store its basket in its fur—yes, in its fur. I watched as it gently pushed the basket against its side over and over, but nothing happened. Eventually, it gave up and carried the basket in its mouth.

The walk back took longer than the first journey, mostly because of all the vines weighing me down. Once we reached the burrow, I gently lowered the rabbit to the ground. And then—what the hell—I watched as it pushed the basket into its fur, and this time it disappeared like magic. I almost lost it right there. My mind was screaming, “What?! How?!” But I kept a straight face, not wanting to freak the rabbit out.

The rabbit, now visibly relieved, used its ears to gesture toward a spot on the ground. I assumed it wanted me to wait. It disappeared into its burrow, and ten minutes later, it emerged with an enormous sack. I swear, it weighed at least 20 pounds.

How in the world was this tiny rabbit carrying something that heavy? My hands went slack in disbelief, and I accidentally dropped my spear.

The rabbit set the sack down next to my feet, made a little chirping noise, and gave me what I could only interpret as a farewell gesture with its ears. I had no idea whether to be amazed or terrified. This didn’t make any sense. How could something so small carry 20 pounds? My brain was on the verge of shutting down from the sheer absurdity.

With a dazed expression, I picked up my spear, grabbed the sack, and began the trek back to Simba Cave.

Climbing back up was tough. The vines, the sack, the spear—it was too much for one trip. So, I left the vines at the bottom and made two trips to carry everything up safely, avoiding any potential accidents.

Once back inside the cave, I eagerly opened the sack. To my delight, it was filled with carrots, potatoes, and even apples—a generous and beautiful gift from my new best friend, the rabbit. I briefly considered giving it the rabbit statue I’d found earlier, but on second thought, if I were the rabbit, I’d probably freak out if a giant creature gave me a statue of myself.

Despite the lack of meat, the roasted carrots were sweet, the potatoes were soft and tender—it was a feast, considering my recent diet. Now, if only I knew how to preserve food… A bit of salt, pepper, and proper kitchen tools like pots and pans would be a dream. But for now, a stick and the campfire will have to do.

With nothing else to do, I sat on the edge of what I’ve now dubbed ‘The Mega Base’ and stared up at the stars. I hadn’t really taken the time to admire the sky before. I don’t know the constellations, but the moon was magnificent—huge and bright, with that peculiar horse or unicorn shape on its surface. Back home, the moon looked very different. Maybe I’m going crazy, but the more I stared at it, the more it seemed like the unicorn was smiling back at me. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that.

Suddenly, a series of howls pierced the air, pulling me out of my lunar daydream. It was the first time I’d heard them, and I felt a mix of excitement and fear. Fear of being hunted, but also excitement—it reminded me of home. A place where I belonged. This world may be strange, colorful, and almost… fantastical, but sometimes, it felt normal. And that’s something I was beginning to miss.

Just as I was about to settle down for the night, another sound reached me—like a howl, but deeper, heavier, more unnatural. I peered down carefully and saw small green lights darting through the trees, heading in a specific direction. Thankfully, they disappeared into the forest, leaving me with a sense of relief.

Feeling a bit shaky, I crawled into my makeshift tent and tried to sleep, hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t bring even more madness.

The day began with me sitting by my fire, attempting to craft a decent spear. I had managed to gather some stones, and using the vines I’d collected earlier, I tried securing them to sticks. But it was proving to be more difficult than I’d expected. No matter how tight I tied them, the stones would eventually slip loose. It was frustrating. A simple spear—a basic survival tool—was apparently beyond me. But I wasn’t going to give up. There was something methodical, almost therapeutic, in repeating the process. I figured I’d keep practicing later tonight.

Last night, I didn’t sleep well. My mind raced with thoughts about this strange land, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been dropped into a twisted fairy tale. The idea started gnawing at me, growing with every passing minute of sleeplessness. There was something about that place where I first arrived—the clearing where I spent my first days—that felt oddly...safe. It was almost too quiet, too peaceful. Maybe it was some kind of sanctuary. That would explain why I hadn't seen more of those colorful small horses since those, confusing encounter. But if that was the case, then what kind of danger lay outside its boundaries? I had already glimpsed what could’ve been another predator or a creature just as dangerous.

With a half-formed plan, I decided to push forward and explore beyond the river, toward the right of my cave. The thought of going deeper into the woods, behind the cave, still unsettled me. Something about it felt too wild, too unknown. The forest was alive, yes, but not in a friendly way. So, I stuck to my usual route.

The day passed uneventfully at first. I wandered through the trees, hoping to stumble upon something useful—maybe a sign of those colorful horses again. But as the afternoon waned and the sun dipped lower, I came across something that caught me completely off guard: ruins.

A castle.

I stood there, stunned, as I looked at the remains of what must have once been a grand fortress. Its walls were crumbling, overtaken by nature, but its silhouette was unmistakable. For a moment, I wondered if I had somehow wandered into Europe without realizing it—this architecture, the sheer presence of the place—it felt ancient, as if it belonged to some forgotten era. But there was something distinctly odd about it, too. The stained-glass windows, shattered in places, still glowed faintly in the light. Symbols of the sun, the moon, and winged unicorns adorned them. Was this place connected to those ponies somehow?

I wanted to explore it more thoroughly, but nightfall was coming, and the thought of being caught in the dark, inside an unfamiliar ruin, didn’t sit well with me. No, I’d come back tomorrow when I had daylight on my side. There was something else—an old dirt road leading away from the castle. It intrigued me. Where did it lead? I would have to follow it, see if it brought me any closer to answers.

With a sense of urgency, I started heading back to my base. As I crossed the river, though, something felt...wrong. Everything was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. No birds, no rustling leaves, not even the sound of the water flowing. The silence pressed in on me like a weight.

I slowed my pace. And then I smelled it—something foul, rotting. The stench was overpowering, creeping through the air like a warning. I ducked low, trying to move as silently as possible, until I heard the sound of snarling. The kind that makes your skin crawl.

I crept forward, my heart pounding in my chest, and finally, I saw it.

A wolf—or, at least, what looked like a wolf. But this thing wasn’t made of flesh and bone. It was a creature of twisted wood, its body held together by some black, tar-like substance that oozed between its cracks. Its eyes glowed an eerie green, casting an unnatural light in the dim evening. My breath hitched. This was no ordinary predator.

I watched, frozen, as the wood wolf stalked a rabbit. The poor thing didn’t seem to notice the danger. For a split second, I considered intervening—maybe I could save it. But then again, this wasn’t the same rabbit that had helped me yesterday. As cold as it sounds, I decided to wait. This could be a chance to learn how this monster hunted, what it was capable of.

The wolf pounced, sinking its wooden teeth into the rabbit. But it didn’t eat. It just...waited. I watched in horror as the rabbit twitched, its fur falling away in clumps, revealing pulsing, dark veins underneath. The creature’s body began to dissolve, melting into the same black liquid that dripped from the wolf’s joints. In moments, the rabbit was nothing more than a puddle, a pool of tar-like goo. The wolf, with deliberate calm, leaned down and licked up the remains.

I stared, slack-jawed. What the hell was this thing?

I was terrified, my mind racing as I tried to back away quietly. But then, in a heartbeat, everything went wrong.

Before I could even react, something slammed into my stomach, sending me flying through the air. I hit the ground hard, gasping for breath. Pain shot through me, and I scrambled to my feet, clutching my makeshift spear. And that’s when I saw them—three of those wooden monsters. Wooden wolves, or whatever the hell they were. They surrounded me, their glowing green eyes fixed on me like prey. I was dead. I could feel it.

“Hey! Back off, you bastards!” I screamed, my voice trembling, more desperate than commanding. “I’ll kill you! Don’t think I won’t!”

I waved my spear in front of me, trying to keep them at bay, trying to appear taller, stronger—anything that would make them hesitate. But it didn’t work. One of them lunged at me, and I swung the spear, but it just swiped at it with a claw. The spear snapped in half like it was made of twigs.

The next thing I knew, the creature was on me, its jaws sinking into my shoulder. I felt sharp, twig-like teeth digging into my flesh, sending searing pain through my body. This was it. This was how I was going to die—torn apart by these creatures in some godforsaken forest. But then, something unexpected happened. The wolf froze, then yelped. It let go of me and stumbled back, shaking its head violently.

I stared in disbelief as steam rose from its muzzle, where my blood stained its wooden snout. It was burning. My blood was burning it.

It clicked. My blood—my blood was toxic to them.

Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I grabbed at the wound, smearing my hands with my own blood. There wasn’t much, but it was enough. I charged at the timberwolf that had bitten me, slamming my bloody hands into its face. It yelped again, caught off guard, and fell backward. I was on top of it before it could react, pushing my palm into its wooden snout, relishing the sound of its painful howls.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?!” I snarled, my voice growing more vicious with every second. I could feel the thing writhing beneath me, its body squirming and twitching as the other two wolves watched in frozen horror. But I didn’t care about them anymore. My mind was focused solely on this one creature.

With my free hand, I grabbed at its chest, tearing at the wood, feeling the strange, sticky black sap-like liquid that held its body together. It was disgusting, but I didn’t care. I yanked harder, pulling at the wood, feeling it give way beneath my fingers. The wolf screeched louder, and I could hear its desperation, but I wasn’t about to stop.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?!” I shouted, half-laughing as I finally ripped a piece of wood free from its body. The wolf howled in agony, and behind me, the other two creatures shuffled nervously. But I was beyond fear now. I was in control. I was a monster.

With the chunk of wood in hand, I slammed it down, using it like a club. Over and over, I pounded it into the timberwolf’s head, cackling like a madman. “Come on! Where’s that bite now, huh? What’s the matter? Not so tough now, are you?!” I spat, saliva flying from my mouth as I struck again and again.

The wood cracked under the force of my blows, splintering into pieces. My hands were slick with that black sap, and yet, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I felt powerful, unstoppable. Every hit brought out more of the anger I’d been bottling up—the frustration, the rage, the hopelessness of being stuck in this nightmare. Every blow was a release.

Finally, the piece of wood I was using shattered, so I grabbed the wolf’s head with both hands, slamming it into the ground. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted to destroy it. The thing beneath me wasn’t even struggling at this point, its body limp as I kept pounding its head into the earth, my own laughter echoing in the stillness of the night.

The sound of wood snapping filled the air, and when I finally stopped, there was nothing left but broken fragments, mixed with that foul black liquid. I stood up, breathing heavily, my chest heaving as I looked down at the shattered remains of the creature.

“Pathetic,” I muttered, spitting on the corpse. “You’re just kindling now.”

My whole body ached, my shoulder still bleeding, but I barely noticed. I was high on adrenaline, on the thrill of victory. Slowly, I turned to face the other two timberwolves. They were frozen in place, their glowing eyes wide with what I could only describe as fear.

“What? Never seen a hunter playing with his prey before?” I growled, grinning like a lunatic. I could see them faltering, backing away, but I wasn’t done. I wasn’t finished with them.

I grabbed two large chunks of wood from the shattered remains of the first wolf and hurled them at the others. One missed, but the other struck its target, hitting one of them in the leg. The creature howled, collapsing as its left leg crumbled into pieces.

The remaining wolf hesitated for a moment, then turned and ran, abandoning its fallen companion. I laughed, a cold, hollow sound, as I charged after the injured one. “Running away? Really? You’re going to leave your friend behind? Some pack loyalty you’ve got!”

I reached the wounded wolf, planting my foot on its head as it struggled to crawl away. It was pathetic, really. With a smirk, I leaned down and ripped off what was left of its broken leg, holding the wooden limb in my hand, watching as the black liquid dripped from it.

“You’re just firewood,” I muttered, pressing down harder on its skull. “That’s all you are.”

The wolf whined, writhing beneath me, but I wasn’t about to show it mercy. I raised the wooden limb like a club, smashing it down over and over until the wolf’s head shattered beneath my foot. The black liquid spilled everywhere, pooling around the broken pieces.

Breathing heavily, I stepped back, looking at the carnage. The first wood wolf was nothing more than a pile of broken wood and sap, and now its companion lay in the same state.

I glanced at my shoulder, where the wound still bled lightly. The pain was dull now, barely noticeable. My blood had saved me, its strange acidic effect stopping the first wolf from tearing deeper into my flesh. I’d survived. But I wasn’t the same person anymore.

I was a beast.

I finally made it back to the cave. Exhausted, I tossed the wood into the fire pit, and to my surprise, the flames caught quickly. The black liquid from those things—it’s flammable, highly flammable.

But I wasn’t hungry anymore. I was too drained to care about food. My body was sore, my mind even more so, but the ache in my chest—the hollow, gnawing emptiness—that was the worst. I ripped a piece of cloth from the ruined tent and wrapped it around my shoulder. I wasn’t a doctor, but I knew enough to stop the bleeding. At least I think I did.

“Lucky me,” I muttered, my voice shaking as I stared at the bloodstained fabric. “Who would’ve thought? My blood… it’s an actual weapon.”

The absurdity of it hit me like a sledgehammer, and before I could stop myself, I started laughing. Laughing so hard my stomach hurt. But then, as quickly as the laughter came, it twisted into sobs, deep and raw, clawing at my throat.

"Why?! Why the hell am I here?!" I screamed, storming toward the cave entrance. The cold night air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the rage burning in my chest. "What did I do to deserve this?! Am I even on Earth anymore? This can’t be Earth. This place—it’s a nightmare!”

“I had a life… a good life. I had friends, family, a girlfriend! I had everything!” My voice cracked, and in a fit of rage, I hurled the makeshift club as far as I could, watching it disappear into the dark. My knees gave out, and I fell to the ground, trembling with frustration and grief.

“They probably think I’m dead by now… or that I just left them. Gave up. They must’ve stopped looking by now, right? Maybe they had a funeral. Maybe they cried… Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe they moved on, and I’m just… forgotten.”

The words came out like a whisper, barely audible over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it was no use. They spilled over, hot and unrelenting.

“Will I ever get home? Can I even survive here? I’m not some damn survival expert. I’m just a regular guy.” I paused, the weight of my own confession hitting me like a ton of bricks. “I used to be normal… someone who wouldn’t even think of killing an animal. And now, every day, I have to fight, to kill, just to make it through.”

“I just… I just want to go home,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I curled into myself, tears soaking the cold dirt beneath me. “Please… whoever, whatever… just send me home. I don’t care how… just let me see my family again…”

For what felt like hours, I stayed there, sobbing until there was nothing left, until my eyes were dry and my body was numb. The fire had long since died out, leaving only the faint glow of embers behind.

I stood up slowly, feeling the stiffness in my limbs as I moved. The world felt darker, colder, but something inside me was beginning to stir. A small, burning spark of resolve. Of defiance.

“I won’t give up,” I muttered under my breath, my voice stronger than before. “I won’t break. I’ll survive, no matter what it takes.”

I fed the fire again, watching as the flames reignited, casting flickering shadows on the walls. “If this world has its rules, then it’s about damn time I introduce my own. There has to be more humans out there. Those tents, the books, that weird structure by the river… they weren’t just left by accident. There are others, and I’m going to find them.”

And if there weren’t? If I really was the last one?

“If there’s no one else… if this place has some other intelligent species, then fine. I’ll figure it out. I’ll learn to deal with it.” I clenched my fists, feeling the fire inside me grow hotter. “And if this world wants to kill me, then it’s going to have to try a lot harder.”

I glanced outside again, the memory of those wooden wolves, the bizarre half-dragon chickens, and the strange, too-smart animals still fresh in my mind. This world didn’t make sense. But neither did mine, not entirely. Not anymore.

“And if I die here, fine,” I whispered, a grim smile forming on my lips. “But I’ll make sure they know exactly what they’re dealing with—the apex predator, the one that conquered and extinguished entire species back home.”

I wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

No matter how much this world tried to break me, I’d find a way to bend it to my will. Even if I was the only human left… I’d make sure it was my world, in the end.

Author's Note

Don’t you think our dear human is starting to lose his mind a little? I mean, he's getting pretty dramatic, don’t you think? Or is his thinking and behavior justified at this point?

Anyway, thanks a lot for your patience! University suddenly turned wild with a bunch of exams and presentations all crammed into the same week—what a nightmare. But I hope you like this new format! I’m trying to keep things from getting too repetitive, so we can skip the monotonous, boring days and get straight to the action, sparing you from unnecessary details.

I’ve got a short chapter about the princesses planned for this week, and the next chapter should be out by next weekend or possibly the following Monday.

As always, any comments, questions, suggestions, ideas, or complaints are more than welcome!:trollestia:

A journey into the unconscious

Author's Note

I am not a psychologist, nor have I studied the subject. What you will see here is pure fiction, created solely for entertainment. None of this is real or based on informative sources, so nothing should be taken as true or valid. I do not understand how the human psyche works, and this should not be interpreted as anything objective or true; it is merely a representation meant to entertain you.:unsuresweetie:

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'm currently working on the next two!

A journey into the unconscious

I found myself walking through the cold, snowy night. The air was crisp, the kind that makes your breath linger in the air like smoke. The street was empty, save for the occasional car passing by, headlights briefly illuminating the otherwise desolate road. My footsteps crunched softly against the snow-covered sidewalk, leaving a solitary trail behind me.

It was a peaceful night, the kind I always loved. The silence felt almost comforting, like the world had slowed down just for me. I kept walking, my hands buried deep in my pockets, my breath steady and calm. This was my routine. This was home. I was heading to my little kingdom—my small, cozy apartment, my sanctuary from the world.

After a while, I arrived. Standing in front of the door, I reached into my coat pocket, feeling the familiar cold metal of my keys. As I unlocked the door and stepped inside, the warmth of my home enveloped me. I felt safe.

I thought about taking off my shoes and slipping into my slippers, but I was too comfortable to bother. Instead, I walked straight to the kitchen, the faint hum of the fridge greeting me like an old friend. I grabbed my favorite snack—a microwave pizza—and popped it in. As it began to heat up, I absentmindedly checked my phone, though the signal was weak. Probably the snow, I thought. The weather always messes with the reception. Guess I should switch providers.

With nothing else to do, I glanced out the window. The view was serene, just a blanket of white stretching as far as I could see. But then something felt… off. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. My eyes drifted to the sky, and that’s when I realized what was wrong.

The moon… it wasn’t there. The sky was lit with a soft glow, as if bathed in moonlight, but the moon itself was missing. How is that possible? I felt a strange unease crawling up my spine. There shouldn’t be light without the moon. It didn’t make sense.

Before I could process it further, the windows shattered. Glass exploded inward, sending a freezing gust of wind through the room. The lights flickered once, twice, and then died completely, plunging me into pitch-black darkness.

I wasn’t alone.

I heard it behind me—a metallic clanging, like chains or heavy metal scraping together, followed by the deep, raspy breath of something lurking in the shadows. My heart pounded, cold sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I could hear its breathing, heavy and guttural, a noise too unnatural to belong to anything I know.

Frantically, I fumbled around the kitchen, trying to find something—anything—to defend myself. A knife, a pan, whatever I could grab. But my fingers only met something soft, something damp and squishy, like wet cotton, sticking to my hands, clinging like tar. I pulled back in disgust, my breath quickening as the dread crept deeper into my chest.

I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs, and there—there they were. Two enormous, glowing blue eyes, fixated on me. They shimmered, twitching and shaking erratically, growing larger and closer with every passing second. The air around me felt heavy, oppressive. I could hear its distorted breath, a low growl mixed with the unnerving sound of metal scraping against metal.

I tried to move, to run, but my feet were stuck—buried in that same strange, sticky mass. I couldn’t escape. The eyes were right in front of me now, mere inches from my face. I could feel their gaze, cold and unrelenting, boring into my soul.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body trembling, but I couldn’t block out the sound—the horrible, wet slithering noise. I felt it—it—right by my ear, so close I could feel its breath. Hot, damp, and suffocating, brushing against my skin like some vile, unseen thing.

And then, I felt it… crawling.

I could feel it slipping into me, through my nose, behind my eyes. It was inside. A cold, creeping sensation as it slithered deeper, digging into my mind, coiling around my thoughts, my memories. I wanted to scream, to claw it out, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

It was burrowing, deeper, and deeper. I felt it unraveling me from the inside.

Finally… I was in.

I had finally done it. This creature had the most powerful mind I’d ever encountered in all of Equestria. Not even my sister, one of the most powerful beings, owner of sun itself, had been this difficult to infiltrate.

As the Mistress of the Night, the ruler of the moon and the queen of dreams, I can enter the mind of any creature I desire while they sleep. But this thing—this thing—was nearly impossible to locate.

I never even knew of its existence until several ponies began dreaming of the same nightmare: a monstrous, blood-soaked butcher, a being capable of killing purely magical creatures with its bare hands. How had this thing escaped my dreamscape, my perfect vigilance? Even after discovering it, I couldn't find its dreams. This creature… it was so strong that I had to gather an immense amount of magic from my prison, the one my pompous and arrogant sister had placed me in. The sister who stole everything from me. This creature should have been my ally—my pawn.

At last, I located it. It was difficult, and after much effort, I was forced to infiltrate the dreams of non-pony creatures—specifically birds and timberwolves—before I found its essence, slipping into its dream. But when I arrived… there was nothing.

I entered a world unlike any I had ever seen. It was foreign, no part of Equestria resembled this place. Enormous creatures roamed here, and strange metal beasts sped by, comparable only to the ancient chariots drawn by our subjects.

As if that wasn’t strange enough, its mind was protected. The dream was not the deepest part of its consciousness but a powerful distortion of reality. Even within this dream, it managed to protect its language, its thoughts.

But the strangest thing of all? No magic. I sensed not a single shred of magic here. None. That is impossible! Even the dreams of the least magical beings, insects, and animals contain traces of magic—tiny fragments, usually drawn from the environment, but magic nonetheless. In this creature’s mind, in its world, there was nothing. I was using too much magic… far too much.

What truly frightened me, though, was the complete absence of magic in this being. Everything in Equus possesses magic! From a mere stone to a rabbit, even my wretched sister—all beings, all things, carry magic, whether it be harmonious or chaotic.

And now... now I am here, in this dark space. Alone. The air is cold, and I cannot see beyond my hooves. The silence is oppressive, and a chilling dread begins to creep over me.

“Well, well, what is this? One of those colorful horses? What are you doing here? This place… it’s meant for the events that mark us, not for something like you.”

I jolted, my heart racing. "Mark? What are you talking about? Show yourself! What are you?!" I demanded, trying to mask the fear creeping into my voice. This place felt wrong. When I enter a mind, it is my domain. I am the one in control. But now, for the first time, I had no control.

A low, mocking laugh echoed around me, disembodied, filling the air with an eerie sense of dread. "Oh? You can speak? How curious. Most of your kind just… make funny noises and neigh. But why do you look like that? Are you supposed to be a villain? The colorful horses I’ve seen are bright, but you… you’re dull and dreadful. You've got wings and a horn too—an armored warrior, perhaps?"

"You… you dare mock me?" I growled, trying to remain authoritative despite my growing panic. "I am the Mistress of the Night, the Queen of Dreams, I'M NIGHTMARE MOON! Do not belittle me as a mere warrior. I demand to know who you are and how you’ve hidden from my realm!" My voice wavered, and I realized, with mounting horror, that my mane—my ethereal, starry mane—was no longer moving. My power was… diminished.

Laughter again, louder this time, more menacing. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, accompanied by whispers, murmurs, and the soft wail of unseen voices.

“I am everything and nothing. Some call me the unconscious, others… the soul. But even I do not fully know what I am. I know only this—I am the core. I am his love and his hate, his hope and his despair. I am his most primal instinct.”

“What are you talking about?” I stammered, fear now gnawing at my composure. Before me, a black silhouette began to materialize, shifting and writhing, with white streaks erratically coursing through its form. I tried to flee, to escape this nightmare, but my magic was unresponsive. I was trapped.

“Do I need to make sense? To him, you certainly don’t. A talking horse with a horn and wings? You must be a joke. I already told you—I am all of his memories, emotions, instincts, and thoughts, locked away in the deepest recesses of his being. He doesn’t know I exist, and he doesn’t remember, but I’m always there, moving the machinery of his mind without him knowing. He thinks he’s in control, but he isn’t. I am, because he constantly tries to forget me, to hide me. But now… now he’s too stressed, too lost, too desperate to fight me.”

“Forget? Control? What are you talking about? I’m supposed to be inside this being’s true mind, beyond his dreams. Do you… control him?” My voice was barely above a whisper now. I couldn’t understand. Was this creature some sort of mind-controlling parasite?

The being laughed again, more cruelly this time. "Yes, and no. After all, I am him. I’m part of him. I take control when he enters a blind rage, when he’s consumed by passion, joy, despair… I hold all his greatest traumas and secrets, and I release them when I see fit. I am his true self.”

I was lost, utterly bewildered. I had never encountered a mind like this, let alone one that could block my magic.

“And you… you’ve intruded on something very intimate. His dreams—those are our little conversations, he and I. That’s why he always forgets them. You should’ve asked to join, but here you are, meddling in a place you don’t even understand.”

That thing... it was getting closer. Panic surged through me. I summoned all my remaining magic, focusing it into my horn, when I felt it—cold, skeletal things grasping it.

And in that moment, I knew I was powerless.

A sudden chill pierced the void as I felt that thing grip around my horn, cold and devoid of magic, as if this strange presence were siphoning my very essence. The realization struck me: this creature, this unfathomable thing before me, was no mere figment. It was a monster inside another unknown being.

“What do you intend to do with that horn of yours? Planning to flee? After all the trouble you took to invade the depths of a person’s mind?” Its voice dripped with a mocking cadence, a blend of elegance and cruelty that made my heart race with trepidation.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice trembling despite my attempts to assert dominance. “How can you exist in a world where everything pulses with magic? Your very presence... it defies logic!” I was terrified, my heart pounding like a war drum, echoing the confusion swirling within me. Everything I knew about magic was being dismantled before my very eyes.

“Magic? So everything runs on magic in this colorful world?” The being's laughter echoed through the darkness, its tone derisive and mocking. “How sad that you share such essential knowledge with me instead of the conscious part of him.”

“What do you mean, the conscious part? I thought you were... the one who controls everything.”

“Nobody understands where we come from… Not even the greatest scientists can explain what I am, how I function. But every human has their own true self, lurking in the shadows of their being. I am who retain the essence of what constitutes individuality, I cannot share or convey information to my host, to myself. I am but the flame that fuels his existence.”

Confusion washed over me, drowning my sense of control. I had entered this realm expecting dominance, but here I was, grappling with a paradoxical entity. It spoke as if we shared a kinship, yet I felt utterly alone, isolated in this abyss of consciousness.

“You don’t seem frightened or surprised by my presence. How is it that… whatever you are, is so calm?” I pressed, searching for clarity amidst the chaos.

“Understand, you are the sole conscious participant in this dialogue. Even as we converse, I shall remain a whisper in the winds of his mind. He won’t remember this exchange. However, I can influence him subtly, with something known as intuition.”

“Intuition?” My mind reeled. How could this enigma twist the strings of consciousness, yet remain so detached? “If you claim to be neither rational nor conscious, then how can you be so composed and civilized? Shouldn’t you be a wild beast, driven solely by instincts?”

“That’s easy for you to say. I am not an animal like you. I do not dwell in primitive instincts. I think, I am self-aware, and therein lies my imprisonment. I embody all that they strive to conceal and control. The wise and intelligent dominate me, utilizing my essence, while those unafraid of their impulses allow me the freedom to exist.”

A shiver crawled down my spine at the implications of its words. It was as if I were staring into a mirror reflecting a twisted version of myself—a creature not of darkness but of raw, unadulterated truth. “Is there a way for you to be my… ally? Is there a means to liberate you from this confinement?”

“Ah, your ignorance is delightful, isn’t it?” It laughed, a sound both enchanting and foreboding. “I cannot exist without him, nor can he exist without me. You wish to be my ally? Do not invade my dreams, do not step into my prison. Instead, converse with my warden, with his conscious self. Win his trust, his affection, and believe me, you will have my support. But should you fail, who knows what we could unleash upon you? I am quite the vengeful concept, and so is he.”

“Can you guide me out of this… prison?” I pressed, my curiosity blending with desperation.

“Ah, that’s simple enough. But I’ve never had company in this space, so I can only speculate on the outcomes. It would be dreadful if he awoke and you still here with me.”

“How do you intend to facilitate this?” My pulse quickened as dread seeped into my mind.

“Have you ever felt what it’s like to plummet from the sky?”

I recoiled at the thought, my heart racing. It was then I realized the depths of this creature’s power. It was neither ally nor enemy, but a facet of a greater whole—one that could plunge me into oblivion or grant me insights beyond comprehension. “What do you mean? Are you suggesting that I simply let go?”

“Let go, indeed.” The being’s voice dripped with cryptic wisdom. “To fall is to embrace the unknown, to surrender to the chaos within.”

What had I stumbled into? This wasn’t merely a confrontation with an aspect of a mind; it was an exploration of fear, of surrender. My thoughts spiraled, teetering on the edge of understanding and madness. Would I dare let go, to fall into the depths of this mind, entwining my fate with this elusive entity?

Yet, even as I pondered, the cold void pressed against me, reminding me of my weakness in this domain. My wings felt heavy, my heart ached with uncertainty, and I could feel the darkness encroaching closer. I was the queen of nightmares, yet here I stood, vulnerable in a realm where my magic faltered, lost in a tapestry woven with threads of fear and confusion.

Would I find the strength to embrace this chaos, to delve deeper into the darkness that surrounded me, or would I succumb to the very fears I sought to conquer?

“Are you prepared to fall?” the being asked, its voice echoing like a whisper through the void.

“Yes,” I replied, my voice a mere tremor in the vastness.

I jolted awake, my heart racing like a wild stallion galloping through an endless field. “Damn it,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes and trying to shake off the remnants of a nightmare that clung to me like a damp fog. I couldn’t recall much, only the suffocating darkness and a presence—a swirling mass that felt both familiar and utterly alien. It loomed over me, whispering something indescribable, a language woven from shadows that danced just beyond the edge of comprehension. Then came the fall, a sickening sensation of weightlessness before everything faded into black.

Slowly, I pushed myself up, the cool air biting at my skin. Night enveloped the world outside my cave, the vast expanse of the sky stretched out like a velvet blanket dotted with stars. With a shiver, I stepped out, my body still tense, a lingering anxiety woven into my very being. I needed to clear my head, to distract myself from the unease that simmered beneath the surface.

As I emerged, the night was still and calm, the kind of peace that invites reflection but, as I soon learned, only serves to mask the horrors lurking just beneath the surface. I gazed up at the sky, and my heart plummeted.

The moon—oh, the moon—was no longer a distant orb casting a gentle glow over the land. The image of the horse-shaped figure that had always been a part of its surface in this weird place, a unicorn lying sideways, was gone. In its place loomed a colossal equine visage, its eyes wide and watchful, staring directly at me with an intensity that sent a chill racing down my spine.

Those craters, once merely shadows on the moon’s surface, now shifted and writhed, contorting into a semblance of a face—an enormous equine form observing me with an unyielding gaze. My breath caught in my throat. Was this creature some kind of deity or demon in this forsaken land? A palpable sense of dread washed over me. Why was it watching me?

“Can you hear me?” My voice trembled as I called into the night, weak and uncertain. I felt ridiculous, but the unease had woven itself so deeply into my being that speaking felt like a desperate act, a feeble attempt to reclaim some semblance of control. Silence enveloped me, thick and suffocating, pressing against my chest.

Then, as if my question bored the celestial being, the visage shifted back to its original position, the side of the moon, as if to say I was unworthy of its attention. Its eye, once bright and piercing, now obscured by the shadow of a crater, turned away—abandoning me to the stillness of the night.

An unsettling chill settled in the pit of my stomach. What am I doing here? The thought gnawed at me. I felt small and vulnerable, exposed under the weight of the moon's gaze, which had morphed from a mere silhouette to an embodiment of my fears.

What was wrong with me? The world around me felt distorted, as if reality itself was peeling away, revealing the raw, chaotic essence beneath. Anxiety clawed at me, making it difficult to breathe, and I instinctively took a step back, my heart pounding violently in my chest.

I gasped, the sound barely escaping my lips as the darkness around me thickened. I could almost hear the whispers of my fears, echoing through the stillness, a chorus of my regrets and insecurities. The realization that I was utterly alone in this wretched world crashed over me like a wave.

My mind raced, spiraling into a frenzy of panic. I’m not safe here. I turned to flee, to escape the gaze of the moon and the encroaching darkness, but the shadows seemed to congeal around me, gripping my ankles like icy hands, pulling me back into their depths.

And just like that, I was swallowed by the night, collapsing to the ground in a fit of terror. Why? Why was this happening? My thoughts tumbled in disarray as I succumbed to the paralysis of fear, my body frozen in place.

As I lay there, the last shred of dignity stripped away, I felt a warm trickle against my leg, a humiliating reminder of my weakness in the face of such overwhelming terror.

I was a prisoner in a nightmare, stripped of power, dignity, and hope, with the moon’s gaze forever etched into my mind, a haunting reminder of the horrors that lurked just beneath the surface of this colorful, yet nightmarish world.

What do you know about the mare on the moon?

I was truly nervous. No—nervous wasn’t the right word. It was more like a chill that reached deep inside, one that made my heart pound with an unfamiliar, heavy fear. Nothing like this had ever happened before. It was three in the morning, and the castle was silent, a strange and unsettling silence broken only by the hurried steps of guards who had come to find me.

I could hardly believe what they had told me. Princess Celestia... crying? The mere thought of it sounded like something out of a nightmare, a cruel impossibility. Celestia—the immortal, wise guardian of Equestria, the one who raised the sun each morning without fail. She wasn’t just a ruler. To us, she was almost divine, an untouchable force of nature. She embodied peace, wisdom, and strength.

But I knew her differently. As her student, I liked to think I understood her beyond the titles. I respected her deeply, even loved her like a second mother. And yet, I feared disappointing her more than anything. She always said she wasn’t a goddess, just another pony like me, but… how could I believe that? I admired her too much, maybe even more than I should have.

As I walked through the castle halls, the familiar walls seemed darker, the cold stone floors amplifying the nervous echo of my hooves. I felt a terrible weight growing with each step. What could possibly reduce someone like Celestia to tears? My thoughts chased each other in endless spirals of fear. Had I done something wrong? It sounded unlikely, yet the thought wouldn’t leave me. But deeper than that was a worse, scarier question: *What had happened that could shake someone like her so badly? My chest felt tight just imagining it.

Finally, I reached her chamber doors. Standing before them, I could hear it—her quiet, broken sobs, muffled but unmistakable.

"Thank Celestia you’re here," whispered one of the guards. His voice was low, tense. "The princess has been… unwell since the middle of the night. She’s been going out onto the balconies, looking into the night. At first, we thought she was searching for something. Then she told us to go to the garden and check on that weird statue close to the maze—but from a distance, not to get too close. We told her everything was the same, and that’s when she locked herself in here… and started crying."

The other guard nodded gravely. "We asked if we could come in, but she won’t respond. We thought… perhaps you could try knock her door and speaking to her, Miss Sparkle."

I could barely form a response. "You expect me to just knock and ask if I can come in?” I could hear the frustration in my voice. Behind this door was likely one of the greatest crises Equestria had faced in centuries, yet the guards insisted on formality. “Really? You want me to just… knock?”

“Protocol, Miss Sparkle,” one guard replied stiffly. “This has unsettled all of us, yes, but there are rules.”

I sighed, moving closer to the door as the guards stepped aside. I lifted my hoof, knocking gently. "Princess Celestia… it’s me, Twilight Sparkle. Your student. May I come in?"

There was no answer, only a small, broken sound from within. It twisted my heart to hear it.

"Princess," I said, my voice trembling now. "If… if this is my fault, if I did something… please tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll fix it, I swear.” The silence stretched on, filled with nothing but quiet sobs. Celestia had never ignored me before. I was used to feeling the warmth and pride in her gaze whenever she looked at me. But now, she felt… distant. Distant and untouchable.

"Please, Princess… Celestia. Let me come in. I’m not here because you’re my ruler or my teacher… I’m here because I care about you. You’re… my friend."

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, her sobs quieted. My mind raced. Had I said something wrong? I wondered, Who was I to even call myself her friend, to put myself on the same level as her? She was…

"Come in, Twilight," Celestia’s voice came suddenly, and the door opened just enough for me to slip inside. "Please… just close the door behind you."

I entered slowly, catching a quick glance at the guards, who gave me silent nods that felt like whispered encouragements—good luck, and be brave.

I entered Celestia's chambers with quiet, hesitant steps. Though I’d been here many times before, especially when she invited me to stargaze with her, tonight the room felt… different. It was as if the warmth and gentle light that always filled this place had vanished, leaving behind an emptiness that clung to the air, thick and heavy. The room was dim, shadows stretching along the walls, and the comforting glow I’d always associated with her presence was nowhere to be found.

There was a bittersweet intimacy here—Celestia’s room had always been something of a small, endearing secret between us. We share stories under the stars or she teach me about constellations. It had always felt cozy, warm, filled with her laughter and warmth, the sort of place that glowed from within, like her heart.

Celestia barely acknowledged my presence, moving toward the balcony instead, where she stared out into the night sky. Celestia stood by her balcony, her shoulders trembled, and a quiet over broke the silence. The sound pierced right through me. This was Celestia—the Celestia who always wore a serene smile, who held us all together with her strength and wisdom. To see her like this, to see her break… it felt as though the very ground beneath my hooves was crumbling.

I followed her gaze out to the moon. At first, I didn’t notice anything unusual, but then, a shiver crept down my spine. The dark silhouette—the Mare in the Moon, as we called it—looked different somehow, its form twisted, almost... accusatory. It wasn’t facing Canterlot as it usually did. Instead, it looked toward the Everfree Forest, as though it was watching and waiting for something within those ancient woods.

“Twilight… you see it too, don’t you?” Her voice was soft and filled with a sorrow so deep it seemed to echo within me, her words a murmur of loneliness.

“Yes…” I whispered. “You mean… the Mare in the Moon?”

Celestia tensed beside me, her face contorting briefly with pain. “I can hardly bear that name,” she murmured, and her voice wavered, a crack hinting at the tears she tried so hard to hold back.

The pain in her tone was unbearable. I felt a need to reach out, to do anything to comfort her. So, before I could second-guess myself, I leaned closer, resting my head against her side, hoping she'd feel at least a little less alone.

Celestia's eyes closed as she released a sigh that seemed to carry ages of sorrow. Celestia had always been something of a mystery, her past a story only hinted at in legends and whispered rumors. Who knew what heartbreaks she’d carried, how many lifetimes of grief she’d silently endured? She’d seen generations of ponies come and go, each departure leaving her more isolated, forced to bear witness to the march of time while she remained here, ageless and steadfast. She’d raised friends, lovers, and students, only to watch each one pass, leaving her to carry on alone.

My own life—how brief it must seem to her. For Celestia, my time here would pass like a single heartbeat, a fleeting breath. But I swear to myself in that moment that I'd make this heartbeat, my life, count for her. I'd be there for her, a warm flicker against the darkness that had bound her heart for so long.

Her wing extended, curling around me, pulling me close. I felt the tremble in her body, the raw emotion she could no longer hide. She lowered her head, pressing it against me, and for the first time, I heard her truly sob. The sound was unlike anything I'd ever known—it was ancient, a grief so deep it defied words. She didn’t just cry this time—she wept, an ancient grief spilling forth in quiet, broken sobs. I could feel it, a sadness that spanned centuries, the kind that only an immortal could know. She had hidden it so well all this time, all to keep us, her ponies, from feeling her pain.

Though I knew I was just a small part of her vast life, I wanted to be a moment of warmth, a brief kindness that might ease some of her pain.

“I tried, Twilight,” she whispered between breaths, her tears warm against me. “I tried everything… but I only made it worse.”

I wanted to say something, anything, but the words refused to come. All I could do was press myself closer, my own heart aching with hers. I held her tightly, my own heart aching for her, for this sorrow that felt endless and consuming. I couldn't imagine the things she'd seen, the heartbreak she'd hardened, yet still she stood here, protecting us all, never asking anything in return. There were no words I could offer, only the hope that she would feel less alone in sharing her pain. We stayed that way, wrapped in silence, her tears falling steadily as I held her close.

She was always there for me, always there for everyone. This time, I would be here for her, in any way I could.

Finally, she took a trembling breath. “Twilight… what do you know of the Mare in the Moon?”

Caught off guard, I hesitated. “Well… it’s a bedtime story. They say she wanted to bring eternal night, and that you stopped her with the Elements of Harmony. That you… that you banished her to the moon.”

Celestia let out a melancholic chuckle, one that held no joy, only endless regret. “Yes… the legend still holds its fragments of truth,” she murmured, “but the mare in the moon wasn't just any mare. She was... she is my sister. “My dearest sister, Luna.”

Her voice broke on the name, and my heart felt as though it had been shattered with it.

Celestia’s words sank into me like a chill that reached my core. She had a sister—Luna—and not just any sister, but the very mare of legends, the “villain” in cautionary tales told to little ponies. I couldn’t believe it.

“My sister, Luna,” Celestia began, her voice a fragile murmur, “she was gentle, a soul filled with love. She wanted nothing more than to share that love, to have it returned. But while I received poems, songs, paintings… she received almost nothing. Our ponies worshiped the day, Twilight. They worshiped me. But Luna… she was barely seen, barely acknowledged.”

The sadness in her voice was like an anchor pulling us both down. I’d stayed up countless nights studying the stars, and yet… not once had I gazed at the moon, at that figure of a mare hidden in its light. Not once had I wondered what the night meant to me.

“Some ponies appreciated her, yes,” Celestia whispered, trembling. “I was her greatest admirer. But even so… she couldn’t feel the love she needed from my… our little ponies.” Her voice cracked. “No matter what I tried, no matter how I praised her night, they turned deaf ears to her beauty.”

Celestia’s eyes glistened as she looked up at the moon, her gaze distant and tortured. “Then… that day came. She rebelled. My sweet sister, twisted by resentment, by loneliness. She was so angry, Twilight. She felt abandoned and unwanted—and I don’t blame her.” Celestia lifted a trembling hoof to her chest. “She poured everything into her work, into weaving nights so breathtaking, soothe nightmares… but instead of gratitude, she received silence. Silence. And they… they gave me the credit for her peace.”

Her voice broke, and she clenched her eyes shut. “I never wanted that. I wanted her to shine. To be adored as she deserved, as I knew she deserved. I tried to remind them, to share her beauty, but the ponies turned away from her.”

I could feel Celestia’s pain, a pain that seemed to stretch back beyond ages. She continued, her words barely a whisper. “That day, she struck out, exhausted and frustrated, tired of hiding in my shadow. I could’ve done something—should have done something. But I was so afraid of her anger… so afraid of what she’d become, that I chose my crown over her.”

“Celestia… you didn’t do anything wrong,” I said softly, trying to soothe her guilt. “Your sister was hurting everypony. You had to protect us.”

But Celestia shook her head, gazing down at me with eyes filled with sorrow and regret. She gently rested her wing on my head, as if trying to comfort me even in her pain. “Twilight, one day… all kingdoms fall. They’re made, they flourish, and then they crumble to dust. My sister and I… we were meant to last longer than any kingdom. In the end, all I had was her, and she had me. There were no titles between us—no princess, no ruler, just sisters. Just love. Until… until I made the wrong choice. Until I chose duty over her. And that choice…” Her voice cracked, and she let out a sob that seemed to carry centuries of remorse. “It haunts me still.”

I had no words, no way to bridge that depth of pain. Here stood the princess I had revered my entire life, and she was breaking before me, a ruler who wished for nothing more than to be a sister.

“For nine hundred and ninety-nine years,” she continued, “my sister’s eyes watched me from the moon, a reminder, an echo of that terrible night. My fears and regrets never let me forget. Every night she has haunted my dreams, rebuked me with her silence… her silence that grew colder and more distant with each passing century.” Her voice quivered. “But tonight… tonight, she did not.”

Celestia’s wing lifted off me, leaving me feeling strangely exposed. Her eyes, wide and filled with fear, remained fixed on the moon as a deep shudder wracked her frame.

“Tonight, for the first time in a thousand years, she did not look back to me. She did not reach out… and it terrifies me.” Her voice was a ghostly whisper. “What if… she no longer sees me? What if she has turned away for good?”

A horrible realization settled over me as I watched her, and I could feel tears prickling at my own eyes. This wasn’t just the regret of a princess who had lost her sister; this was the nightmare of a pony who feared she had lost the only soul who had truly known her.

Celestia let out another broken sob, her eyes filling with fresh tears as her head hung low. I placed a gentle hoof on her back, feeling her shake beneath my touch. She was like a glass on the edge of a table, barely holding on, and all I could do was stay beside her, trying to ease the crushing weight of her sorrow.

Finally, in a voice so faint I almost missed it, she said, “Twilight… if you ever face the choice between power, wisdom, and knowledge, or love, friendship, and family—choose the love. Choose the friendship. That’s where true harmony lies. Don’t make the same mistake I did… the mistake that cost me my only sister.”

I nodded, unable to speak, my heart full of a pain I could barely comprehend. As we sat there, in the darkened silence, the warmth of Celestia’s room felt like it would never return. But in that silence, in the quiet grief we shared, I vowed to carry her words with me—to remember the love, the friendship, and the harmony she had once lost and so deeply regretted.

How to create your own empire without dying in the attempt

Not even a week in, and things are already spiraling downhill. Really—just my luck. Because, apparently, there’s some cosmic horror up there, a "sentient" moon staring down at me like I’m a bug under a microscope. That’s right. I now know a Lovecraftian entity exists, and it’s watching me. Great. So, my new 'rule' is getting back to the cave before nightfall. Can’t have the moon ogling me. Nope.

My shoulder ached from last night’s little 'encounter' with that creature, and I’d barely slept since. My mood? Dark, like my morning coffee—if only I had some. Dragging myself up, I trudged over to the river. After last night, I needed to clean up, both me and this bite wound.

As I walked out of the cave, crossing the plateau on the hilltop, I spotted something that stopped me cold. A group of rabbits—easily over a dozen of them, adults and what looked like their little ones—had gathered at the start of the downhill trail. One rabbit in particular caught my eye, the same one that had given me that sack of vegetables a while back. To my surprise, it hopped over, dropping a small piece of paper at my feet before bouncing back.

I picked it up, squinting to make sense of the scribbles. The drawing showed a bunch of rabbits and, unmistakably, a clumsy rendition of me. We were all encircled, with little hearts scattered around us. So, what—were they proposing some kind of alliance? Or, a thought that genuinely creeped me out, was this some twisted rabbit matchmaking attempt? The last thing I needed was to be crowned as 'Rabbit King Daddy' or something equally absurd.

Thankfully, the rabbit produced two more sheets, as if pulling them from a cartoonishly convenient pocket. I took them, flipping through each one. The first page had two drawings: one seemed to imply that if there were only a few rabbits, the wooden wolves would ignore them—at least, that’s my best guess. The other image showed a swarm of rabbits, circled together, which seemed to act like a flashing sign to attract the wolves. There was even a little moon symbol thrown in, probably suggesting those wooden beasts only prowled at night.

The second page? Oh, this one was the real treat. There I was, stone in hand, waving it around like a caveman from an old comic strip, yelling my head off. Should I be insulted or flattered? They’d captured me as this feral giant, some cross between a monster and an idiot, but apparently, it was meant to convey that I could fend off these wooden wolves. Like I was their big, dumb protector.

Then came the old rabbit, distinctively gray while the rest were white, brown, or black. He leaned on a twig like a walking stick, handing me one last sheet—a rough map. It showed a hill, or maybe it was supposed to be my cave, with a sketch of me on top. Beneath it, there was a circle filled with little rabbit figures.

It didn’t take much to figure out. They wanted to set up camp, a little rabbit village, right next to my cave, with me as their “guardian.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I have zero intentions of being anyone’s glorified security guard. But from the looks of it, they seemed helpless without me. Which meant I was more than just a pawn—I had some leverage here.

With the paper in hand, I flipped it over, grabbed some ash from last night’s fire, and started drawing. First, I sketched a bunch of animals—birds, deer, bears, wolves, and rabbits—all encircled. I marked the rabbits with an X to signal they were off-limits for hunting. I drew little symbols of meat—chops, drumsticks, sausages—to drive home the message that, yes, I eat meat, but no, not them. Then I added vegetables and fruits with the sun and moon, hoping they’d get the idea that I expected food daily. Finally, I drew a little village, surrounded by a wall, with me in the center, holding a spear and a crown. Okay, maybe a bit over the top, but I wanted them to know I wasn’t their lackey.

Slowly, I placed the sheet down in front of the old rabbit. His reaction? Comically raised brows, followed by a thoughtful scratch of what I guessed was his chin, before he hopped back into the group.

Watching them deliberate was… bizarre. Some looked nervous, stealing glances at me. Finally, a timid rabbit returned the paper. The only addition? A small drawing of a rabbit on my shoulder, raising its paw, surrounded by more rabbits in the village. I let out a heavy sigh, crouching down to pat the old rabbit. Cheers broke out among the others, and while I may have agreed, I planned on doing things my way.

As they hopped down the hill in excitement, a few rabbits stayed behind, watching me expectantly near my cave with more paper at the ready. Feeling a growl of hunger, I rubbed my stomach and gestured to my mouth. One rabbit chirped something, and two of them dashed off.

And within five minutes, they returned with an insane spread—like they’d conjured food from nowhere. I was stunned. They even had miniature wooden utensils. It was toomuch.

Grabbing some paper and ash, I started drawing again, faster this time. I sketched out bits of human life: phones, guns, cars, planes—and an axe. Holding up my masterpiece, I watched as they tried to piece it together. One rabbit attempted to recreate my drawings using potatoes. And just like that, my hopes for sharing some semblance of human ingenuity crashed. Somehow, these bunnies could pull food from an invisible pocket, but modern tech? Beyond them.

Well, at least they knew what an axe was. Feeling an odd mix of gratitude and anxiety, I scrounged through my stuff until I found my cigarette pack. Yeah, I knew it was a bad idea. I was probably the only human for miles, and no way these rabbits knew anything about human anatomy or medicine. But right now, all I needed was a reminder of home.

I stepped out to the edge of the cave, lit up, and took a slow, shaking drag. The smoke was rough, harsh against the back of my throat, but it was a familiar burn—a tiny piece of the life I’d left behind.

I needed to calm down. This place was a damn rollercoaster, bright colors clashing with its freakishly surreal nature. And in just this week, I’d probably exercised more than in the past year. Diet was nonexistent, too, though I hoped my 'new allies' could fix that.

I was changing, though. A few weeks ago, the idea of killing anything would’ve been absurd. Then I got here. With zero experience and barely any emotional bandwidth, I had to make my first kill. It was brutal, but necessary. I didn’t enjoy it, but it was survival, and that didn’t make me a monster. At least I tried to be humane about it.

I wasn’t a master hunter yet, but I was getting the hang of it. And those creatures I’d let my anger loose on? They unleashed something in me—a fury, powerful and liberating in a way I’d never experienced.

For the first time, I felt a tiny bit calmer, enough to actually finish my cigarette in peace. I guess I just introduced this world to nicotine—lucky them. Then I walked back to my tent and stashed the cigarette box. No way I’m smoking more; it’s counterproductive out here, and I’ve only got eleven left anyway.

Turning my attention back to the rabbits, I found them sitting there, waiting expectantly, holding out a bowl of fruits, vegetables, and… flowers? Sorry, guys, but I’m definitely not eating flowers. Call it a hunch.

I sat down, starting on the salad, aware of the little furry audience watching my every move. It was a bit unsettling, actually. I probably shouldn’t have wolfed it down so quickly—no clue if this stuff’s poisoned, but then again, it’d be pretty dumb to go through all the trouble of making a settlement just to kill me off.

Finished, I left the flowers untouched, which didn’t seem to bother the three bunnies much. Appreciate the meal and all, but I wonder how they’ll react when I start dragging in some animal from the forest. Rabbit’s off the menu, of course, but I wouldn’t mind if these guys could help me haul a deer back or something.

Then nature called, and my gaze drifted to my usual spot near the edge of the cave. Only this time, with the rabbits so close, I got a weird idea. I wanted to test their ‘pocket inventory’ powers and maybe get something… useful out of it.

Grabbing a piece of paper, I sketched a little jar with a cork stopper. I knew they’d probably pull it off, but it still amazed me when one of the rabbits dashed off and promptly returned, holding exactly what I’d drawn. I took the jar, uncorked it, and—well, let’s just say I did my best to fill it up with my ‘golden liquid.’

Not my favorite activity by any stretch, but I had to experiment here. I mean, my blood’s acidic enough to take out those wooden wolf things, but bleeding out to kill wooden wolves isn’t exactly ideal. Maybe my urine could do the trick instead.

Once I was done, I shook myself off, corked the jar, and handed it to a rabbit, gesturing for it to rub it along its side. Watching it struggle against what I assumed was a burning sensation, I couldn’t help but think this might actually work as a substitute.

I took another piece of paper and drew a little map—me, the three rabbits, a river, and a distant castle. I held it up for them, but they just looked at me, confused. Sighing, I added symbols for various tools and items—pots, ingots, knives, hatchets—all in a circle around the castle with arrows pointing there and back. Maybe they’d get the hint.

I grabbed one of my spears, pocketed the jar (though it took up pretty much all the space), and we headed down. I’ll give it to these rabbits; they’re fast workers. Not even a couple of hours had passed, and they’d marked out a massive area about the size of a football field. I could see the faint trenches marking the perimeter, with larger rabbits working there, while others dug new burrows in the center.

Honestly, I was a bit stunned, maybe even impressed. These rabbits weren’t just ordinary animals—they had an inventory system like something out of Minecraft or a survival game. They’ve got skills and brains, sure, but why act like… well, rabbits? With these capabilities, they could be building a civilization, not hiding from those twiggy wolf things. And yet, here they are, prey animals, just waiting around to be picked off. It’s baffling. Guess it takes someone like me to change the equation around here.

As we walked through what was apparently the new ‘residential district’ (can I even call it that?), I noticed a few rabbits waving at me, though some kept their distance, eyeing me with a mix of fear and curiosity. Fair enough. I’ll probably need some time to get them to fully trust me, but with what I’ve seen, maybe it won’t take as long as I thought.

I took a deep breath as we set off, trudging through the forest under a patchy canopy that let in scattered shafts of light. The three rabbits hopped around me, darting forward only to pause and glance back, almost as if they were watching my every move. I couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just friendly guides but, perhaps, little spies reporting on every step I took. I kept an eye on them, my mind racing with doubts about their true intentions. Friends? Or guards meant to make sure I didn’t cause any trouble? Hard to tell when their little faces were so blank, those twitching noses giving nothing away.

We crossed the creek with me carrying the rabbits on my shoulders, their soft weight surprisingly comforting against the gnawing unease that crept up every time I remembered I was worlds away from home. I tried to shake off the tension and focus on my mission—a mission that had become half exploration, half desperate plunder. This castle, this relic of a different world… it had to have something I could use. As the trees finally thinned and the towering walls came into view, I couldn’t help but feel a chill run down my spine.

The castle loomed before us, massive and majestic despite the years of abandonment. Ivy crawled up its stone walls, but its towers still rose defiantly into the sky, a silhouette of forgotten grandeur. The intricate stained-glass windows caught the fading light, casting faint, colorful glows onto the surrounding trees—a quiet reminder of some lost era. For a second, I almost forgot where I was, the sight tugging at a half-formed memory of a European fortress from some old history textbook. The place felt like it held secrets, like each stone and pillar had a story etched into it, waiting to be told.

I pushed the heavy doors open, a thick layer of dust puffing up as they groaned in protest. The interior was dim, only faintly illuminated by the fractured, colored light filtering through the stained glass. As my eyes adjusted, I began to make out the details: suits of armor, clearly crafted for these ponies. They stood on display along the corridor, diminutive yet impeccably crafted, evoking the armor of medieval knights but… wrong, somehow. Not “wrong,” I corrected myself. Just… alien. Imagining these “ponies” as warriors only reinforced how foreign this world was. A chill washed over me as I realized these creatures weren’t just some cutesy animals—they had a society, maybe even a civilization.

I couldn’t help but think I’d made a grave mistake trying to interact with those colorful creatures in the first place. Suddenly, a bizarre thought crept into my mind—what if some horror from my world, some wendigo or chupacabra, had tried to befriend me, making cute noises, reaching out with blood-stained claws? That’s probably how these ponies saw me.

I lowered the rabbits to the ground, sketching a quick map on a piece of paper, indicating they should fan out and search the place. They tilted their heads, clearly uncomfortable, but eventually scurried off in different directions, leaving me alone in the hall.

I walked further inside, my footsteps echoing through the vast, empty space. Above me, the ceiling arched high, lined with murals depicting two figures—a white horse adorned with the sun, and a dark one shrouded in a midnight blue aura, the moon hanging ominously beside it. Their images were everywhere, like rulers frozen in time, watching over a kingdom that had long since fallen silent. The stained-glass windows told stories, each panel capturing a moment of triumph or peace. It was a bizarre contrast—the castle itself, grim and desolate, yet these windows shone with a sense of hope and harmony.

“Guess every world has its own good-versus-evil story,” I muttered to myself, eyeing the white and black figures. Yet, looking at that dark horse—a likeness too close to that damned silhouette on the moon—a strange familiarity prickled at me, as if it reminded me of some long-forgotten nightmare or fantasy villain. But there was also a sinking realization: this world had no humans. No familiar faces, no comforting reminders of home. Instead, these strange, pony-like creatures were the rulers of this land, and I was the intruder in their old, decaying monument.

As I continued down the hall, I stopped at a suit of armor that caught my eye. Like the others, it was small, intricately designed to fit one of their kind, yet meticulously crafted with a blend of elegance and practicality. A tiny, slightly corroded spear rested beside it—a miniature weapon that, even in this dilapidated state, felt like it carried an echo of some past valor. I grabbed a few of these spears, realizing their short length would make them next to useless in a real fight, but maybe the rabbits could carry them in that 'inventory' of theirs.

Shaking my head in frustration, I continued my exploration, peering down shadowed corridors that snaked into the unknown. There was something eerie about the silence, as if the castle itself were holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone. I turned back to the main hall, noticing the rabbits had started to reappear, cautiously bringing back various finds: small forks, pans, even a few kitchen knives. They were toys, almost comically undersized, yet they had the fine, polished look of something meant for daily use, not decoration. The absurdity of it all—the knives, so small they barely qualified as tools—brought a bitter smile to my face. “Perfect. Just what I need. Dull, tiny weapons.”

The rabbits handed me their discoveries, and I motioned for them to put the items away, mimicking tucking things into a belt. They seemed to understand and quickly 'stored' everything, somehow hiding their haul in ways that still defied logic. Even as I marveled at it, I couldn’t shake the gnawing unease their abilities gave me. These were creatures capable of so much more than their docile appearances suggested.

I turned to leave, taking one last look at the eerie splendor of the castle hall. The windows, with their vibrant colors and bold figures, seemed to glow even brighter as the last rays of light struck them, casting vivid hues across the dust-covered floor. This was once a place of life, of grandeur. A place where these… creatures ruled and thrived. Yet now it was an echo of itself, a hollowed-out reminder of some bygone age.

“Let’s get out of here,” I called to the rabbits, who seemed only too eager to oblige, bounding ahead of me towards the doors. They may have been carrying kitchen cutlery and other assorted junk, but the tense, darting way they moved made it clear: this place frightened them. Perhaps they could feel something I couldn’t, an ancient energy that lingered in the shadows.

As we left, the castle loomed silently behind us, its colors fading under the encroaching darkness. For the rabbits, this place was clearly haunted; for me, it was a reminder of just how alone I was. This wasn’t my world. And no matter how many forgotten trinkets or misplaced spears I found, there was a creeping certainty that I’d never truly belong here.

With my small band of rabbit followers, I began the trek back toward the strange, emerging village. My shoulders bore the weight of three furry 'comrades,' while I carried a few miniature spears in my hands. The thought crossed my mind: I was officially a scavenger—a thief, even. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It felt oddly satisfying, like I’d conquered something, though it was a hollow victory in this baffling place.

It struck me that if I traveled farther downstream, I might stumble upon an actual pony village. Assuming, of course, these pastel ponies weren’t being picked off by the wooden wolves prowling around the forest. A dark thought, but a real one in a place where bloodthirsty wooden wolves were as real as my growing list of worries.

Once we reached the village—if you could call it that—the rabbits scurried down from my shoulders, eager to greet their fellow workers. For a moment, it felt like I was some sort of animal chauffeur. They scrambled off, hopping around to show off what we’d scavenged, while I made my way toward the cave where I was storing supplies.

Inside, I unloaded our haul. Pots, pans, lamps the size of toys, forks, and knives—items that were too tiny to be useful but were at least made of metal. The rabbits had chosen whatever looked intriguing. I added my miniature spears to the growing pile of peculiar loot and looked around, satisfied.

“Alright, scram,” I told the rabbits, gesturing for them to leave. They blinked at me with wide, uncomprehending eyes, staying put. Their curious stares lingered even as I brushed past them, irritation simmering. They stuck with me as I headed toward the river, apparently uninterested in leaving my side.

Fine. I’d let them follow. But as we walked, my mind wandered to darker thoughts. What in the world was I even doing here? Why was I thrown into this absurdly colorful, borderline ridiculous place?

It was one thing to wake up lost; it was another to find myself in a land where my very presence seemed to warp the rules of reality. I remembered how my blood had burned those wooden wolves, melting their wooden bodies like acid. And then, there were the rabbits—their magic, or whatever inventory abilities they had, stopped working the moment they were near me. What did that make me? A human xenomorph? Some freak accident dropped into a cartoonish nightmare?

The small jar I kept—my makeshift weapon of desperation—gleamed in my hand. My own urine, and I was wondering if it held the same bizarre properties as my blood. Was I a walking chemical hazard in this world? I gripped the jar, morbid curiosity tempting me to test it somehow. But no—I’d save that thought for later, maybe when things got really desperate.

We finally reached the river, a wide expanse of clear, shimmering water. I had a task: fishing. Simple enough, right? But with the rabbits tagging along, I knew there’d be no privacy. Gritting my teeth, I tried to focus, peeling off my makeshift bandages and dunking my shoulder into the cool water to wash the wound. The rabbits moved closer, their little faces brimming with concern, but I waved them off. This was my moment of vulnerability, and I didn’t need an audience.

Once I felt slightly more refreshed, I chose one of the short spears. Fishing would be my next attempt at survival skills. I motioned for the rabbits to gather sticks that resembled the spear, using crude gestures to communicate. It took a frustratingly long fifteen minutes, but they eventually caught on, each rabbit holding a spear-like stick with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Fishing itself was...well, tedious, to say the least. How could I explain to a group of herbivorous rabbits that we were trying to catch fish? Still, I held my spear over the water, waiting for a flicker of silver in the river’s depths.

The first attempts were clumsy. I missed each time, my 'teaching' going nowhere. The rabbits watched in silence as I struggled, their stares both attentive and oddly amused. They probably thought this was some kind of strange, pointless human ritual. Each time I plunged the spear down, it felt like a strike to my pride. I was starting to feel the mocking weight of their tiny gazes.

Then, suddenly, a stroke of luck—a glint of silver darted below, and I lunged, feeling the satisfying resistance as my spear finally connected. The fish writhed on the spear, thrashing wildly, its silvery scales glinting under the sunlight. My heart raced with exhilaration. I raised the spear triumphantly, the fish impaled at its end, blood dripping down into the water. It was small, but it was a victory.

I gazed at the fish, adrenaline pumping through me. For a second, I felt alive, the thrill of the hunt surging through my veins. The blood, the visceral sight of my catch—it didn’t faze me. I was adapting, becoming...what? Something primal, perhaps. This was survival, plain and simple.

Grinning, I turned to show the fish to my rabbit companions, expecting them to share in my accomplishment. Instead, their faces held an expression I hadn’t anticipated. They stared at the bloodied spear, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and disgust. Their tiny bodies trembled as they looked at the fish, at me, as if they were suddenly seeing a stranger—no, a predator—instead of a fellow survivor.

The triumphant surge of pride in my chest fizzled instantly. Their revulsion was like a splash of cold water, dousing my excitement. My grin faltered, replaced by a wary frown. For all my efforts, for all my triumph, I was nothing more than a stranger to them—a monster.

I lowered the spear, feeling a strange defensiveness creeping over me. “What?” I muttered, a tinge of sarcasm slipping in to mask my frustration. “You were the ones who insisted on following me.”

But they didn’t react. Their gazes were frozen on the fish, their little noses twitching with unease. My stomach churned as I realized the extent of the divide between us. We weren’t allies; we were just...together. They didn’t understand my survival, and I couldn’t share their strange, gentle harmony. I turned back to the river, my hands gripping the spear tightly as I let the unease settle over me like a heavy blanket.

In silence, I cast my eyes to the rippling water, feeling the isolation press harder on me. The thrill was gone, replaced by an unsettling awareness of just how foreign I was here. The world of pastel creatures and impossible forests, and me, a lone human, a predator among prey.

As I trudged back to the camp with the rabbits in tow, still visibly shaken and lagging behind, I couldn’t help but think about just how deep I’d buried myself into this mess. Here I was, a city-dweller with zero survival training, stranded in a place that was as colorful as it was bewildering. And yet, now I had these skittish, wide-eyed creatures clinging to me. I thought they'd be allies of sorts—smart enough to keep up, tough enough to handle a bit of bloodshed. Turns out, I might as well have been expecting them to start reciting war tactics.

I sighed, a rough, irritated sound that bounced off the quiet trees. My makeshift 'companions' were about as useful as…well, the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that I’d been completely deluded. This wasn't teamwork; this was babysitting. The worst part? I wasn’t sure they could even defend themselves. One look at a bleeding fish had been enough to send them into a state of terror that made me want to laugh and scream at the same time. Now it was painfully clear: these rabbits were nothing more than resources, assets I had to keep alive purely for my own benefit, not because I actually gave a damn.

In the silence that stretched as we walked, a cold clarity washed over me. I wasn’t the 'leader' of anything; I was a reluctant, grumpy guardian whose only consolation was my own biting sarcasm.

"Great job, champ," I muttered under my breath, glancing at the three rabbits trailing close, yet never daring to get too near after the fishing incident. "You’re the proud caretaker of three squeamish furballs afraid of their own shadow. Real promising.”

They glanced up, ears twitching, as if sensing my hostility, though I doubted they understood. Still, my patience was thin, and they weren’t exactly helping.

As we entered the small clearing near the half-built rabbit village, I observed their reaction to the smell of fresh fish clinging to my clothes. Their noses wrinkled, their tiny eyes darting in every direction, seeking solace from their timid comrades digging nearby. My attempts to get one of them to carry a fish back in their 'inventory'—a trick they seemed capable of doing with anything except dead things—had gone as expected: more squeals, more avoidance, and a lot more of me realizing just how alone I really was here.

My head throbbed with frustration as I headed to the cave, the newly familiar scent of the rough stone and stale air giving me some odd sense of stability. The rabbits still followed me, though this time they kept a cautious distance, their nervous energy infecting the air around us like an uncomfortable silence. Every tiny sound made their ears flicker, and I found myself grinding my teeth. With each step, it felt less like I was part of a team and more like I’d become the appointed overseer of a particularly useless flock.

Once inside, I dropped my gear with a clatter and made a show of laying out the fish, their scales glinting in the dim light as I picked up my knife to start cleaning them. The rabbits watched, wide-eyed and shivering, though none dared approach. Perfect—because right now, their presence was little more than a reminder of my failure. At least here, in this makeshift hideout, I could get something done without their terrified glances chipping away at my patience.

I started slicing into the fish, the knife pressing through flesh with a dull, sticky sound that seemed to make the rabbits wince. My hands moved mechanically, more out of routine than hunger, though I did feel a twisted sense of satisfaction in the process. I didn’t care about the blood anymore; it was just another part of survival, a natural step between hunger and satisfaction. But watching the fish twitch its last against the edge of my knife reminded me of something else: I had gotten used to it, while they recoiled in disgust. Somehow, that amused me and irritated me at once.

Glancing up, I could see the rabbits huddling close to the cave's entrance, their eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear. I held up one of the fish, blood trickling down from its mouth as it hung from my hand, lifeless but still strangely present. “See this?” I said, sarcasm coating every word. “This is food. Survival. Blood and guts, whether you like it or not. Get used to it.”

Their only response was a look of pure horror, which grated against every last shred of my already thin patience. I felt the brief flicker of pride that came with a successful catch turn cold, as if they’d stripped the moment of every ounce of meaning. I might as well have shown them a murder scene.

Fantastic, I thought bitterly. Nothing I do with them will ever make sense. All they’ll ever see is a monster, a clumsy, blood-stained creature invading their world.

At that moment, the reality of it all settled over me like a cold shroud. I wasn’t here to lead, or to make friends. I was here to use these rabbits, to keep them building and working, while I managed the things they couldn’t understand—things like fish guts and survival.

“Guess that’s it then,” I muttered, barely glancing at the huddled figures as I turned back to my grim work. “You’re nothing but a means to an end, aren’t you? I keep you alive, and you…well, you keep me sheltered. We’re not allies; we’re just in the same miserable mess. And if that bothers you,” I shrugged, letting my words fall flat, “tough luck.”

Night had swallowed the land whole, and I sat crouched on the stones outside my cave, a vantage point where I could peer down at the makeshift rabbit settlement below. Three jars of my own makeshift weapon—the only 'ammunition' I'd managed to produce—sat by my side, ready to go. Three precious throws. The rabbits were huddled close, their small bodies clinging to my ankles, as if proximity to me offered some sort of comfort. Comfort—hah. After what they'd seen of me, I doubted they still saw me as anything but a brute.

Clutched in my hand was a metal-tipped spear from that ancient ruin I’d scavenged. It wasn’t a masterpiece, just a crude, corroded weapon, but it was enough. I had the rusty blade of a knife in my pocket too. A dull, disappointing thing, hardly worth a mention. But here, it would have to do.

The night stretched on, quiet and unsettling. It seemed the darkness itself was coiling, waiting, and I sat tensely, wondering if tonight would be the night I’d need to use these crude defenses. A sickly, decaying stench wafted on the breeze, sour and unmistakable. I looked up, watching the dense shadows shift until three pairs of eyes, burning like green coals, blinked into view. The wooden wolves. Three of them, creeping down toward the burrows, hungry and gleeful.

I crept forward silently, the rabbits trembling and almost plastered to my heels. When I got close enough, I reached for the first jar, cradling it carefully in my hand. I aimed, then threw. The jar shattered between two of the wolves, and for a second, silence held. Then they writhed and shuddered, like they’d been doused in acid. My urine seeped into the cracks of their bodies, mixing with that oily, black resin that held their splintered forms together, and they convulsed, their frames jerking and rattling. The black sludge bubbled and fizzled, boiling over, trying to piece them back together in vain.

The sight was grotesquely satisfying—I was almost entranced. But then a shrill, terrified shriek tore through my distraction. I spun, and horror clenched my gut. One of the wolves had lunged forward, jaws closed around one of my rabbits, the poor creature caught in its snapping, splintered jaws.

Something snapped inside me, and I was lost to it—a vicious, all-consuming rage surged up, drowning every other thought, silencing every rational whisper. There was only one command pulsing through me: destroy. I grabbed another jar, hurling it with a snarl. The wolf dodged, black eyes gleaming with a hateful cunning, but its focus wavered. That was all I needed.

With a guttural roar, I charged, ramming my spear through its torso, skewering the creature and forcing it to release the rabbit with a strangled yelp. The wolf dangled from the end of my spear, and I heaved, slamming it down into the dirt. I barely noticed the rabbits cowering behind me as I lost myself in a violent haze, kicking and stomping, breaking off shards of its jaw, ripping away pieces of the beast until it was little more than splintered wood and trembling ooze.

Finally, I lifted my last jar, pouring its contents into the gaping hole where its mouth had been. The thing writhed, convulsing harder, and then burst, black sludge erupting and soaking the earth, disintegrating to nothing.

My gaze shifted to the two other wolves. I barely heard their pitiful whimpers as I descended upon them with unhinged fury, jamming my spear into one, crushing the other beneath my feets until their bodies were nothing but broken wood and fetid, congealed resin staining the dirt. I didn't stop until every bit of that dark, reeking sludge had seeped out, leaving nothing but shattered remains.

But then, all the rage and hate that had flared up in me seemed to drain. I turned back to the rabbits, and my heart clenched. The injured one lay there, eyes half-closed, with black tendrils creeping through its veins, its fur falling out in patches. The poor creature’s breathing was shallow, a faint, miserable rise and fall.

I knelt, hands trembling as I cradled it. There was no relief, no satisfaction, just a choking sadness gnawing at me. I’d failed. For all my will, my attempt to protect them, I hadn’t managed to keep even one rabbit safe. I wasn’t feeling sorrow for the little thing itself, not exactly. No—I was bitter, ashamed, defeated. It was a hollow reminder of just how powerless I really was here.

One of the other rabbits looked up at me, hesitant, its eyes mirroring a strange sadness, an understanding I hadn’t expected. “Will he make it?” I asked, half-whispering, as if expecting it to answer. It just looked at me, then back at its friend. It shook its head, ears drooping low.

My heart ached with a heavy, biting guilt. I took my knife, hands trembling as I showed it to the other rabbits. They flinched, terrified, but when they looked at their friend, a weary acceptance took hold. They turned away, one letting out a quiet, mournful squeak.

I did what I had to, my hands unsteady, breath shaking. I laid the little one down gently on the ground, eyes blurred with tears I couldn’t hold back.

With a hollow, trembling sigh, I stumbled away, retreating to the shadowed isolation of my cave. I couldn’t face them, couldn’t even look back at the burrows. The weight of failure and rage festered in my chest, simmering, twisting into something darker. I looked up at the night sky, teeth grinding, the moon looming like a pale, taunting sentinel. That damn moon, with its calm, unblinking gaze, almost mocking me.

My breath came ragged, hoarse. I clenched my fists, rage pulsing through my veins anew. "This is your fault!" I shouted, voice echoing through the night. "You dragged me here, to this pathetic world. You think this is funny?" My voice cracked, and I screamed up at that distant, unfeeling orb. I cursed it, cursed the entire sky, cursed the strange, twisted magic that had brought me to this miserable existence.

There I stood, fists clenched, eyes wild with fury, promising myself, that I’d find a way to beat this. To break free, to somehow end this twisted game.

Author's Note

Alright, sorry for the long delay—I owe you all an apology.

These past weeks have been rough, mainly due to university. We’re nearing the end of the semester, and it’s been a whirlwind of exams and projects that have drained most of my time. On top of that, a few issues at home have turned this into the perfect storm of creative block and lack of time.

So once again, I’m sorry. I can’t promise frequent chapter updates, but I’ll keep pushing the story forward and try to address any questions or suggestions.

By December, once the semester wraps up, I promise to update more regularly. November, however, is a busy month where I live, with local holidays, so I’m not sure how many chapters I’ll be able to release, but I’ll aim to post at least one or two.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. I noticed most of you are especially interested in our dear human protagonist, so I’ve focused a lot more on him this time, trying to further develop his character. I hope you find it enjoyable!

The beginning of the rabbit era

The night before was nothing short of a failure.
My one job was to protect them, and I failed. One of the rabbits under my care died because of me—because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t vigilant enough. What kind of first impression does that make as their so-called 'guardian'? Mediocrity at its finest.

Frustration boiled over as I avoided their little faces, their tiny, trusting eyes. I kept my interactions to a minimum, muttering under my breath while erecting stakes topped with the decapitated heads of those wood wolves. It wasn’t for intimidation—it was just the raw, primal anger spilling out of me. Then I retreated to the cave, hiding inside the tents, trying to calm myself.

I must’ve been more exhausted than I realized because I fell asleep almost immediately. But rest wasn’t kind. That recurring dream came back—the one where a black mass swallows me whole, dragging me into some formless abyss. I jolted awake with the sensation of falling, gasping for air like I’d been yanked out of the sky. At least this time, I wasn’t screaming. The sun had already crept over the horizon, and for once, I liked to think that the moon’s silent stalker hadn’t been watching me.

I crawled out of the tents, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. And there they were—three rabbits waiting for me. My chest tightened at the sight. They’d replaced the one we lost, like nothing had happened. It was as if the hole left behind by last night’s failure didn’t exist, as if life just moved on without mourning.

The moment they saw me, their little ears perked up, and they hopped over with an enthusiasm that was almost too much for me to handle. One of them tugged gently at the hem of my worn-out pants, insisting I follow. I hadn’t even eaten yet, but they were so persistent that I figured they needed something urgent. Maybe this was my chance to make up for last night—to redeem myself in their tiny, trusting eyes.

I followed them down the hill, past the barely-there village we’d started to build together. They didn’t stop at the perimeter, though. They led me beyond it, into the unknown. My unease grew with every step. Why were they taking me outside? Was this some kind of test? I palmed a smooth rock from the ground just in case—I didn’t trust anything out here, not even these rabbits.

Then we arrived.

An enormous tree towered above us, its branches sprawling like an umbrella of green and gold. The clearing around it was bathed in soft, dappled sunlight, and it felt... otherworldly, like something out of a storybook. But what truly stunned me was the sound.

It started as faint, almost imperceptible. Then it grew—a chorus of soft, melodic chirps and hums coming from the rabbits. At first, I thought it was my imagination. Rabbits didn’t sing. They couldn’t. But here they were, swaying gently, their little paws linked together, their eyes closed as they surrounded a small mound of stones near the base of the tree.

I didn’t understand the melody. If there were words, they were lost to me. But the harmony was undeniable—mournful yet warm, a bittersweet farewell wrapped in sound. It pulled at something deep inside me, something I couldn’t name but felt all the same.

The stones in the center of their circle were adorned with tiny flowers, carefully arranged like a bed for the dead. The rabbits closest to the mound looked different—more solemn, their movements slower, as if the weight of grief sat heavy on their small frames.

Then one of them, a gray-furred elder, noticed me. He hopped over with measured steps, carrying a few delicate flowers. He paused in front of me, gazing up with eyes that seemed to hold lifetimes of wisdom. Without a word—or a chirp—he offered the flowers.

I knelt, taking them carefully into my calloused hand, and followed his lead toward the stone mound. The other rabbits stepped aside, leaving a path for me to walk. My chest tightened with every step.

I placed the flowers gently among the others, my hands trembling slightly. What was I even doing here? This wasn’t my funeral, my loss. I didn’t feel sadness for the rabbit who’d died—I barely saw it. What I felt was frustration. Frustration at myself for not being enough. Frustration that I couldn’t even handle something as simple as keeping them safe.

As I knelt there, the weight of everything pressed down on me—the fear of being left alone, the constant uncertainty of where the next meal would come from, the dread of losing even more. I wasn’t a guardian. I was a fraud, an outsider pretending to belong in a world I didn’t understand.

The gray rabbit stood beside me, silent, as if waiting. I finally rose, stepping back to join the others. The ceremony continued, the song swelling and softening in waves. For a moment, I let myself be carried by it. The air felt heavy with shared sorrow, but it was a sorrow that didn’t crush—it comforted. The warmth of the melody seeped into my bones, easing the ache in my heart, if only a little.

When it was over, the rabbits began to disperse, the circle breaking apart like petals blown by the wind. I stayed back, watching as a few lingered near the mound—family, perhaps. Or friends. I didn’t know. I’d never know.

I turned and walked away, following the others back toward the village. The warmth of the song still clung to me, like the last rays of sunlight before dusk.

For once, I didn’t feel like a complete failure. Not entirely.

The walk back to the rabbit village was oddly quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but one filled with lingering thoughts. My mind kept replaying the morning’s funeral—a strange, beautiful, and surreal experience I’d never expected to witness. I felt calmer now, though a heavy weight still pressed on my chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe the atmosphere, or maybe just the soft presence of the three rabbits leading the way up the hill. Either way, I wasn’t as wound up as I’d been last night.

As we climbed back toward the cave, I saw the elder rabbit waiting at the entrance, leaning heavily on his twig-like staff. His tired eyes shifted toward me, and I could feel the unspoken authority in his posture. Even without words, I knew he was the one in charge. Beside him, a few rabbits had set up several bowls: a mix of leafy greens for me and... a plate of bones. Yeah, bones. Clearly, I needed to find a way to explain to them that I don’t eat bones. Communication was going to be a challenge.

I sat cross-legged in front of the spread, trying to ignore the uncomfortable implications of the bone plate. The salad, however, looked fresh and surprisingly appealing. Hunger overtook my hesitation, and I started eating, letting the crisp crunch of the leaves fill the silence. As I chewed, one of the elder rabbit’s attendants hopped over with a stack of parchment. Right. More drawings.

The first sheet was almost comical: a crude drawing of me surrounded by cheering rabbits, little arms extended in celebration. Below, caricatures of wooden wolves with exaggerated bumps on their heads wept dramatically. I couldn’t help but smirk. Guess I’m a hero now? The sarcasm came easy, but underneath, I felt a pang of guilt.

The second sheet was more serious. The moon hung prominently at the top, and out of its sides crawled timberwolves. Around them were dozens of rabbits—thirty, to be precise—twelve of which lay on their sides with little X’s for eyes. Below that scene, the moon was smaller, and the wolves cowered in the forest. This time, the thirty rabbits stood upright, alive I guess, save for one. In the center was a crude drawing of me, standing tall, surrounded by little houses. The message was clear: they saw me as their protector, their line of defense against the nightmares in the woods.

I put the pages down, sighing softly. They weren’t angry or disappointed in me. If anything, they were grateful. But instead of feeling relief, I just felt... inadequate. They deserve better. I need to be better.

Determined, I grabbed one of the spare sheets and sketched a hammer next to a rabbit. Around it, I drew smaller rabbits linked to the first, hoping to convey the idea of leadership and teamwork. My artistic skills were... questionable at best, but I hoped the elder would understand.

The old rabbit squinted at the page before letting out a sharp chirp. Another rabbit scurried over, received a few quick gestures, and darted off like a courier with an urgent message. Well, that’s one way to delegate.

I returned to my meal, only to feel a light tug on my worn shirt. Looking down, I saw a rabbit with a bandana wrapped around its head, a small hammer strapped across its back like some kind of adorable warrior. If I wasn’t trying to keep a straight face, I might’ve laughed. Bandana Rabbit tilted its head, waiting expectantly.

Grabbing another sheet, I drew a series of tall poles with platforms, each holding various objects—apples, carrots, even rocks. Between the poles, I sketched a small figure of myself dodging projectiles. It was rudimentary, but it got the point across: I needed to train. I mimed throwing and dodging, trying to show the rabbit what I meant.

At first, Bandana Rabbit just stared, ears twitching. After what felt like an eternity of awkward gesturing, the realization dawned on them. With a chirp, they nodded and began signaling to me, pointing to various parts of the cave as if asking where I wanted the setup.

I led them to a spot near the cave wall, where the natural light barely reached but could be supplemented by a fire. Training here would let me develop reflexes and get used to low-light conditions—a two-for-one deal. Bandana Rabbit seemed to understand, and with a few more gestures, they sprinted off.

Peering out from the cave, I watched as the rabbits divided into groups. Some stayed behind, continuing to reinforce the wooden barriers around the village, while others ventured beyond the perimeter, likely gathering materials from the forest. It was mesmerizing to see them work with such purpose and coordination. For creatures so small and vulnerable, they sure had an incredible will to survive.

Leaning against the cool stone wall of the cave, I let out a long breath. “Well,” I muttered to no one in particular, “guess I’m officially part of the rabbit goverment now.” The sarcasm in my tone didn’t hide the truth: I was starting to care about these little guys, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

The ancient rabbit squinted at me with his cloudy, half-lidded eyes, leaning slightly on his twig-like staff as though he were some forest oracle.

With a deep breath, I pulled a blank sheet of paper toward me. If I was stuck in this bizarre world where rabbits treated me like some guardian, then I’d at least leave them with something useful. A system of numbers seemed like a good start—baby steps toward civilization, right?

I started simple, sketching a single rabbit and writing “1” next to it. Then two rabbits with a “2.” I continued this pattern, drawing increasingly crowded groups of rabbits beside numbers, until I hit 20. By then, my hand was cramping, and the paper looked like some feverish doodle from a petting zoo fanatic. I flipped it over and drew 50 dots with the number “50” beside them for good measure.

When I handed the sheet to the elder, his whiskers twitched in confusion. He studied it for a long moment, then handed it to one of his underlings, who let out a comically exaggerated gasp, his mouth forming an “O.” The others scurried over, their eyes darting between the paper and me as though I’d just reinvented fire. Their exaggerated reactions—wide eyes, dropped jaws—were straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Honestly, it was hard not get ankward.

Feeling a rare flicker of hope, I grabbed another sheet and wrote, “Can you understand me?” in big, clear letters. I slid the paper across the ground, watching their tiny faces contort into expressions of complete bewilderment. So much for a breakthrough. Either they didn’t recognize letters, or they just couldn’t grasp my human script. Fantastic.

One of the rabbits eventually scrawled a reply: a group of 42 rabbits with 46 written beside it. Suppressing a groan, I circled the 42 and handed it back. To my surprise—and mild amusement—one rabbit lightly bopped another on the head with his paw, as if chastising him for the mistake. Progress? Maybe.

With the afternoon light waning, I decided to make the most of the daylight. My three loyal rabbit companions stayed behind, watching intently as I rummaged through my meager supplies. Today’s project: crafting something from bones. Why? Well, why not? It was morbid, sure, but I needed a creative outlet. Besides, I wasn’t exactly drowning in hobbies out here.

I picked up the skull of a bird from the plate. With a mix of curiosity and hesitation, I started experimenting. My goal was simple: make a small hole to thread a string through, turning it into a charm or decoration. It sounded easy enough.

It wasn’t. The first skull cracked almost immediately. So did the second. By the third, I managed to carve a decent hole without the entire thing crumbling. It wasn’t perfect—tiny fractures spider-webbed across the surface—but it held together. That was good enough for me.

The rabbits, however, were less impressed. Their wide eyes and twitching noses made it clear they found my actions both fascinating and mildly horrifying. One of them tilted his head so far to the side I half-expected it to fall off. I ignored them. If they wanted me to stick around, they’d have to accept my eccentricities. Besides, I was the only one willing to do the dirty work when danger inevitably came knocking.

I mimed tying a knot, gesturing for a string or something similar. After a lot of blank stares and confused squeaks, one of them finally got the message and dashed off. He returned with a rope so thick it could have doubled as a towline. Sighing, I held up the skull and pointed to the tiny hole, hoping they’d understand. The lightbulb moment was almost visible as the rabbit’s ears perked up. He chittered excitedly and disappeared again, this time bringing back a thinner piece of twine.

With some trial and error, I secured the skull to the haft of one of my scavenged spears. The weapon itself was a weird hybrid—a glorified steel stick with a blade too small to be practical for anything larger than a rabbit. Still, it had served me well enough, and now it had a macabre little accessory. Practical? No. Satisfying? Absolutely.

I stood back, admiring my handiwork. Sure, it wasn’t the kind of thing you’d find in a museum, but it felt oddly fulfilling. Plus, I hadn’t spent a single cent on this cosmetic upgrade. Take that, overpriced video game DLC.

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink, a serene backdrop to a day that had been anything but. I sat at the edge of our village. The rabbits, my unlikely allies, bustled around with their usual energy, their caricature-like mannerisms both endearing and infuriating.

Today had been... productive, I guess. Four jars. Four whole jars of my urine, painstakingly filled throughout the day, now sat as our most valuable resource. Never thought I’d be strategizing with rabbit militia over pee jars, but here we are.

The wise rabbit, sat across from me earlier as I tried to explain my latest idea. Through a combination of gestures, crude drawings, and what I can only describe as interpretive dance, I conveyed the concept of patrol groups.

Two teams of four to six rabbits, each carrying a sacred jar of my very human corrosive acid. Their mission? To monitor the perimeter, and if one of those accursed woden wolves wandered too close, to douse it in the potent elixir. Of course, step two was to run like hell and call for me—or hide, depending on my availability. Baby steps.

The old rabbit had nodded sagely, though I could tell he didn’t fully grasp the plan. Still, he told one of his companions and he shouted for him, and soon enough, they were organizing themselves into little squads. Watching them “strategize” was like watching a parody of a military briefing: rabbits saluting, hopping in exaggerated circles, and even one dramatically pointing at the horizon like he’d just spotted an invading army.

Honestly, their over-the-top antics almost made me laugh, but then they’d look at me with those wide, innocent eyes, their fluffy ears twitching expectantly, and the weight of my responsibility hit me like a brick. These creatures were hopelessly fragile. They didn’t understand the world’s cruelty, and yet, they were willing to follow me—a strange, loud, towering monster—because they believed I could protect them.

I wish I believed that.

I leaned against a tree, fiddling with a stick while watching the rabbits practice. Well, practice might be a strong word. One group tried to hurl small stones at a target—a crude drawing of a wooden wolf they scratched onto a log. Most of the stones barely made it halfway. One ambitious rabbit tried to throw his with both paws, lost his balance, and ended up somersaulting into a bush.

I couldn’t help but facepalm. "This is what I have to work with," I muttered, shaking my head.

But they were trying. That counted for something.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I sat by the campfire, chewing on a few roasted roots the rabbits had gathered. My stomach growled, longing for something more substantial. Protein. Meat. Something to keep me strong. Sure, the rabbits brought me plenty of fruits and vegetables, but I needed more.

Tomorrow, I’d patrol the outskirts, not just to keep an eye out for timberwolves but to hunt. Birds, maybe Fish. Anything that could be eaten—and whose bones I could repurpose.

The thought of bones brought a new idea to mind. What if I could arm the rabbits? Tiny spears, maybe even little bows. The image of a battalion of rabbits in miniature armor, wielding toothpick-sized weapons, was both absurd and oddly satisfying. I almost laughed at the thought. Almost.

Realistically, though, I’d need to start small. Identify the strongest, bravest rabbits—the ones who didn’t scatter at the first sign of trouble. Maybe I could... selectively encourage breeding? Build a stronger generation, one that could hold their ground. Of course, I had no clue how rabbit romance worked. Would they listen if I paired them off like some deranged matchmaker?

Probably not. But it was worth considering.

The fire crackled softly as the first stars appeared, their light casting a faint glow over the clearing. The rabbits gathered close, their tiny forms silhouetted against the flames. I glanced at them, then at the dark woods beyond. Somewhere out there, timberwolves lurked.

I clenched my fists. Those wooden bastards had no place here—not near me, not near these rabbits. I didn’t care if they were some vital part of the ecosystem. If I had to, I’d wipe them out. Every last one.

Was it extreme? Maybe. But this wasn’t their land anymore. It was mine.

With a sigh, I leaned back, staring at the sky. The rabbits had settled into their burrows for the night, leaving only those rabbit patrols and my three companions, so tonight I would spend more company than yesterday, although I preferred to keep my thoughts to myself. I’d never asked for this—this strange world, this strange role. Protector, teacher, guardian.

But if I was going to survive here, I had to adapt. And if that meant turning fluffy, wide-eyed rabbits into warriors... so be it.

Unexpected arrivals

The air was mine to command, and I reveled in it. Every twist, every flip, every stunt was proof that I was the best flyer in all of Equestria. Nopony else could pull off a quadruple spin while tearing through the clouds like they were paper!

I arched my wings, tensed my muscles, and dove into a perfect spiral. The wind roared in my ears, and I grinned. Just one more twist, a quick cloud-split to cap it off—

“RAINBOW DASH!”

Before I could react, a blur of feathers and claws slammed into me. I let out a yelp as we collided, tumbling tail over mane before landing with a poof on the fluffy cloud I'd parked for a quick nap earlier.

For once, I was grateful for my lazy habits. The cloud cushioned the fall, but my pride? That took a nosedive.

“Gilda? What the hay?!” I shot up, wings flared in annoyance. “Why are you dive-bombing me? If you wanted to race, you could’ve just said so! I was kinda busy being awesome, you know.”

But Gilda wasn’t her usual cocky self. Her feathers were ruffled—not in the cool way—and her golden eyes darted around like she was being hunted.

“Dash, I’m not here to race!” Her voice cracked, something I’d never heard from her before. “I need your help. Have you seen another griffon? His name is Gustav. Smaller than me, black feathers, white beak?”

“What? No, Gilda, you’re the only griffon cool enough to show up in Ponyville unannounced.” I squinted at her, trying to figure out what was going on. “Why? What’s—”

She cut me off with a growl, clutching her head feathers and pacing in frantic circles. “This is bad. This is really, really bad.” Her voice shook. “Dash, I messed up. I really messed up.”

I blinked. Gilda? Nervous? It didn’t add up.

“Okay, whoa, whoa. Chill for a sec. Start from the top.” I put a hoof on her shoulder, but she grabbed me instead, claws trembling as they dug into my fur.

Her talons were cold and clammy—sweaty, even. That wasn’t normal.

“Dash, I need you to help me find him,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

“Uh… sure, yeah. Just give me a sec to clear the skies. It’ll take, like, ten seconds flat.”

She nodded stiffly, and I shot off like a lightning bolt. Clearing clouds was easy, but my gut twisted as I glanced back at her. Gilda wasn’t just upset—she was scared.

Fifteen seconds later, I landed beside her. She was perched at the edge of the cloud, gnawing at her claws and staring toward the Everfree Forest.

“Alright, G. Let’s do this. We’re looking for a smaller griffon, right? Where do we start?”

Her wings drooped. “The Everfree.”

I froze. “Wait, what? Why would he go into there? The place is crawling with monsters!”

“It’s my fault,” she mumbled, her voice cracking again. “I… I told a group of kids about the monster living there. I thought it’d be a funny story. I didn’t think—”

“You what?” My hoof smacked my face as I groaned. “Gilda, you knew that thing wasn’t just some campfire tale! Why would you—”

“I didn’t know it was real!” she snapped, her voice breaking into a shriek. “You just said there was a monster and that’s why you wouldn’t come practice with me! How was I supposed to know?!”

I stared at her, my mouth half-open. How could Gilda, the tough, fearless griffon, look so… small?

“Well, congratulations, G. Now there’s a kid griffon wandering through a forest where a creature might actually crush his head and—”

“Stop!” she yelled, her feathers puffing out as she recoiled. Her breathing turned shallow, and her wings flapped erratically.

“Gilda?”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were wide, her claws twitching as her chest heaved.

Oh no. She was panicking—bad.

Her wingbeats faltered, and she started to drop. I didn’t even think. I dove after her, grabbing her mid-air.

“Gilda! Snap out of it! If you don’t flap, we’re gonna crash!”

Nothing. Her eyes were glassy, her breaths shallow and rapid.

“Horseapples,” I muttered, angling my wings toward the Everfree’s edge. The thick canopy came up fast, branches scratching at my fur and feathers as we tumbled into the trees.

The fall hurt—my bruised ego, mostly—but I’d had worse. Gilda, though? She lay on the ground, gasping and staring at nothing.

“Gilda!” I knelt beside her, shaking her shoulder. “Hey, you’re okay. Just breathe. Deep breaths. Come on, G. You’re tougher than this!”

But the proud griffon I knew was gone, replaced by someone shaking and scared. My chest tightened as I glanced toward the forest’s shadows. Whatever was out there… we were heading straight for it.

And this time, I wasn’t sure I could pull us out of it.

The branches above still rustled slightly from our chaotic landing, the faint creak of swaying limbs blending with the steady rhythm of Gilda's shallow, panicked breaths. Her wings twitched sporadically, and her claws dug into the soft earth as though trying to anchor herself to something solid. Seeing her like this—a mess of nerves and raw emotion—was enough to make my heart race. Gilda wasn’t supposed to break like this. She was tough, unshakable. She was my friend, my rival. But now? She looked more fragile than a loose feather in a storm.

I paced around her, feeling a gnawing sense of helplessness. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to chill out? No, that wouldn’t cut it this time. Her wide, frantic eyes locked onto nothing, darting back and forth as though searching for an escape. Every shaky exhale from her made my feathers bristle. She was terrified.

"Gilda, Gilda... GILDA!" I called out, my voice cracking as I shook her lightly with my hooves. No response. She just sat there, staring at the ground, her talons clenching and unclenching with jerky, desperate movements. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she looked like she was barely holding it together.

“Come on, Gilda! Snap out of it!” I tried again, my voice softer this time. I hated seeing her like this—no, scratch that, it terrified me. Gilda was supposed to be the tough one, the one who laughed at danger and shrugged off bad days like they were nothing. Seeing her this way, so vulnerable and broken, made me feel completely helpless.

Taking a deep breath, I sat beside her and draped a wing over her back. "It’s okay," I said, trying to sound calm and reassuring, even though my heart was pounding. "We’ll figure this out. Gustav’s going to be fine. You and I? We’re unstoppable together, remember? We’ve got this."

Her shivering slowed, and she let out a shaky exhale. Slowly, she turned to look at me, her golden eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Dash...” she croaked, her voice raw. Then, with a shaky paw, she pushed my wing off her back and straightened herself, trying to reclaim a shred of her composure.

“You’re serious, right? About the monster not hurting ponies?” she asked hesitantly.

“Well...” I hesitated. "It hasn’t hurt ponies, but..." My voice faltered, and I braced myself. "The whole thing with painting that foal with blood? That part’s real. It wasn’t pony blood, but it was from some bird."

Her face twisted in horror, and her feathers fluffed out involuntarily. “Dash, what—why didn’t you tell me this sooner?!”

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. “I didn’t think it mattered! I mean, I thought you’d just blow it off like one of those ghost stories ponies tell to scare each other. I didn’t know you’d go and tell griffons about it!”

Her breathing quickened again, and I could see the panic rising in her eyes. "Dash... I didn’t know it was this bad! I thought it was just... just some silly rumor!" Her claws gripped the ground as she stared at the edge of the forest. "What if Gustav... what if he..."

“He won’t,” I interrupted firmly, stepping in front of her and looking her straight in the eye. "We’ll find him. Together. But we can’t just rush in there without a plan."

Gilda let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and devoid of humor. “And what plan, Dash? You don’t even know this forest. You said it yourself—ponies avoid it for a reason. And me? I’m no tracker. I can’t even hunt for myself, let alone find Gustav in this mess!”

Her words hit harder than I expected. She was right. I didn’t know the forest, not like I should if we were going in there. And the thought of facing that monster... I swallowed hard. "Okay, so maybe we don’t have all the answers right now," I admitted. "But we’re not giving up. We’ll figure this out, Gilda."

I was about to cheer Gilda again when she let out a sharp gasp, her claws shooting up to cover her face. And then the tears came. Actual tears. Gilda—Gilda, the coolest griffon I knew—was crying, her voice muffled as she choked out incomprehensible words between sobs.

For a while, the only sound was the wind brushing through the Everfree’s edges. I waited, feeling every agonizing second stretch out. Then, finally, she took a shaky breath and muttered, “I messed up, Dash. Big time.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, though my stomach churned. "But I can help you, so we're in this together."

She shook her head, standing up and flexing her wings. Her talons dug into the dirt, and for the first time, I saw a spark of determination in her eyes. "No, Dash. I’m not dragging you into this without a real plan. You don’t know the Everfree, and I’m not risking you getting hurt because of my mistakes."

“What are you saying?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"I’m saying I’ll go back to Griffonstone," she said firmly. "I’ll bring back real help—trackers, hunters. Griffons who know what they’re doing. You stay here and keep an eye out for Gustav. If he shows up, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid."

“Gilda, you can’t just—”

“I have to,” she interrupted. “This is my fault, Dash. I screwed up, and I need to fix it. You said it yourself—the monster’s dangerous. I’m not risking your life on my mistake.”

Her words stung, but I could see the guilt and determination written all over her face. For once, Gilda wasn’t thinking about her pride or how she looked to others. She just wanted to make things right.

“Fine,” I muttered, crossing my hooves over my chest. “But you’d better come back fast. I’m not sitting around here forever, and I’m definitely not letting you hog all the glory.”

She smirked faintly, a ghost of her old self shining through. "Don’t worry, Dash. I’ll be back before you know it. Just... don’t do anything reckless, okay?"

Before I could reply, she spread her wings and took off, disappearing into the sky with a powerful beat of her wings. I watched her go, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders.

I turned back toward the forest, the trees seeming darker and more foreboding than ever. Gustav was out there somewhere, lost and scared, with a monster lurking nearby. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if being awesome was going to be enough.

“Guess it’s up to me now,” I muttered, my voice sounding far less confident than I’d like.

It was a quiet afternoon in my backyard, nestled at the edge of the Everfree Forest. I had spent most of the morning helping the little rabbits around my cottage find cozy, safe spots for their burrows. The warm sun cast dappled patterns through the trees, and the air was filled with the soft hum of nature. Everything felt peaceful—just the way I liked it.

I was about to guide a tiny bunny family to a particularly nice patch of grass when I noticed something unusual. The bushes near the forest’s edge rustled. My heart skipped a beat, but I took a deep breath, steadying myself. It could just be another critter looking for help. That happened all the time, didn’t it?

Out of the underbrush emerged five rabbits I had never seen before. They were… strange. Unlike the cheerful, playful bunnies I was used to, these ones felt… cold. Their movements were precise, almost mechanical, and their eyes seemed to study everything around them with a dispassionate intensity. I couldn’t quite place it, but something about them made my fur prickle.

Still, they were animals in need, and I wasn’t about to turn them away. “Oh, hello there,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice calm and soothing. “Are you lost? Do you need help?” I began to approach them slowly, careful not to startle them.

As I got closer, I noticed they carried tiny vials strapped to their backs. That was unusual. Most rabbits preferred to hide their belongings inside their fur, but these… they seemed to treat their vials with a seriousness that made me uneasy. What could they possibly need those for?

One of the rabbits stepped forward, his dark eyes locking onto mine. He reached into his fur and pulled out a folded piece of paper, placing it carefully at my hooves. I picked it up gingerly, my wings twitching nervously.

“Oh my,” I murmured, glancing at the paper before looking back at them. “Y-you’re not from around here, are you? Did you come all this way for my help?” The lead rabbit, who introduced himself as Dante, gave a small nod. His voice was absent, of course, but the intensity of his gestures spoke volumes.

Dante explained, in his own silent way, that he and his group came from a settlement deep within the Everfree Forest. A rabbit settlement? That was… wonderful! But also terrifying. The forest was no place for such delicate creatures. How could they possibly survive there? I tried to imagine their lives—dodging timberwolves and other dangerous predators—and my chest tightened.

“You must be so hungry after such a long journey,” I said quickly, not wanting to overwhelm them with questions just yet. “Please, let me prepare something for you.”

I turned to the other rabbits in my backyard, the ones I had been helping, and gently asked them to wait a little while. They didn’t seem to mind; most of them hopped off to explore the garden. With that settled, I rushed into my cottage to gather supplies—a picnic blanket, fresh carrots, cups, and some berry juice.

When I returned, I carefully set up the picnic in the yard. “Here you go,” I said, smiling softly as I gestured for them to sit. “I hope this helps you feel a little better.” They obliged, though their stiff postures made it clear they weren’t here to relax.

“My name is Fluttershy,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “But… oh, um, I suppose you already knew that if you came looking for me. Do you… need help with something? Is it your settlement? Is it… in trouble?” My wings tightened against my sides as I spoke. The idea of their home being in danger sent a chill down my spine.

To my surprise, Dante shook his head. He gestured to one of his companions, who unfurled another piece of paper. When I saw what was written there, my heart sank.

“H-herbalism, smithing, m-medicine, mechanics, bows, arrows, e-explosives?” I stammered, my eyes darting between the list and the rabbits. “W-why would you need things like this? Y-you’re just… little bunnies.”

They exchanged glances, clearly uncomfortable with my reaction. Dante’s ears twitched, and his body language became more guarded. “Are you… are you being threatened?” I pressed, my voice trembling. “Is it that creature in the forest? The one the birds have been whispering about?”

They didn’t answer, but their silence spoke louder than words. My mind raced. Could that creature—whatever it was—be hurting them? Forcing them to fight back in ways no rabbit should ever have to?

“I… I can’t just let you leave empty-hooved,” I said, though my voice faltered. “Maybe I can give you some books. J-just basic ones for now, but I’ll need time to gather more. And perhaps Angel and I can visit your settlement to… um, see what’s going on?”

Dante’s ears flattened slightly, and he gave a curt nod. It wasn’t exactly an agreement, but it wasn’t a refusal either. With their permission, I hurried inside to fetch an old veterinary guide. When I returned, they took it with surprising care, and one of them tucking it into its fur before bowing slightly in gratitude.

As the evening wore on, the rabbits settled in my yard, speaking quietly among themselves. From my cottage window, I watched them with a growing unease. They weren’t like any rabbits I had ever seen. Even their moments of affection—a nuzzle here, a gentle paw there—felt calculated, like ponies who had learned to suppress their emotions for survival.

I didn’t know what was happening in that forest, but it was clear these rabbits were caught in something far bigger than themselves. And as much as they unnerved me, I couldn’t ignore their plight. Tomorrow, I would have to decide: should I try to help them further? Or should I convince them to leave that dreadful forest and find safety elsewhere?

For now, though, I could only watch and wonder.

Author's Note

And so, the year begins—better late than never. I want to start by sincerely apologizing for the long delay and hope that these chapters truly meet your expectations.

I know the chapters are somewhat short, but that’s because they were originally part of larger sections. However, I decided to split and organize them for the sake of readability and structure. After all, it’s better to enjoy satisfying portions than to be overwhelmed by an excessive feast.

It seems that the civilization project is progressing well. Not only are they expanding their territory, but they’re also advancing in technology. That relentless human pursuit of power and technological supremacy is making its mark. It appears the human is educating and transforming the rabbits according to his plans.

As always, any questions, suggestions, comments, or constructive criticism are more than welcome, and I’ll be happy to respond. I truly hope the wait was worth it, and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Did I just militarize some tiny bunnies?

Weeks turned into months. The days had begun to blur together, marked only by the steady rhythm of progress and the curious transformation of my newfound people. The village of rabbits—once timid, cuddly, and frankly ridiculous—had evolved into something… more. It was subtle at first: a shift in their demeanor, a flicker of determination in their tiny eyes. Now, as I stood overlooking the village from the rocky slope near my cave, the change was undeniable. The rabbits were no longer just surviving; they were organizing, adapting, and—shockingly—militarizing.

Even now, small patrols of four or six rabbits moved through the clearing below, their movements precise and coordinated. Each carried a small, handmade spear strapped to their backs, alongside miniature versions of the “special jars” they did painstakingly crafted to deal with the timberwolves. Those jars were my trump card, my elixir of destruction, and it seemed the rabbits had come to revere them almost as much as they revered me.

Three of those jars sat near my tents in the cave—my personal batch. The rest had been distributed among the patrols, a sign of both their growing competence.

It hadn’t been easy to get to this point. When I first suggested forming patrols, it was like unleashing a floodgate. Every rabbit wanted to join, their enthusiasm matched only by their utter incompetence. They were too small, too soft, too… rabbit-like. I needed to weed out the weak, to separate the wheat from the chaff.

With the help of the wise rabbit, I devised a test. The first trial was simple: catch a fish. Easy, right? Wrong. The rabbits, in their adorable idiocy, managed to corral fish using their little paws, gently nudging them onto the riverbank without so much as a scratch. It was like watching toddlers trying to play rugby. I had to intervene.

“Use a spear,” I'd growled, moving the spear with exaggerated gestures, indicating that they would nail the fish. “Stab it. Kill it.” I'm not a monster, I don't want the fish to suffer so it has to be as fast and clean as possible.

The results were… mixed. Of the dozens who attempted, only a handful managed to catch a fish using the crude wooden spears I’d provided. And of those, only four had the guts to complete the second part of the test: scaling the fish with knives, their tiny paws slick with blood and scales.

Those four rabbits became the foundation of what I jokingly referred to as my military. They weren’t much to look at, but they had something the others lacked: courage. Or maybe just a slightly higher tolerance for gore. Either way, they were mine now.

The four chosen rabbits stood before me, their eyes filled with a mixture of determination and curiosity. They had proven themselves through the two trials—braver, sharper, and more willing than the rest. This would be my first attempt at creating a more structured and capable defense force, something beyond the chaotic patrols and scattered efforts we’d managed until now. I needed to make them understand their purpose and responsibilities, but communication was, as always, an exercise in patience and creativity.

Once the trials concluded, I gathered them along with the wise rabbit and my three constant companions. We made our way to my cave, now a somewhat organized hub for all our planning. Inside, I faced the group and began to lay out my vision. These four were to become leaders—the heads of our nascent military structure. It felt ambitious, maybe even reckless, to establish such a system so soon, but necessity demanded it. With nearly half the village participating in the trials and only these four succeeding, my options were limited. They would have to take charge of recruits, train them, evaluate their progress, and decide who among them might rise in rank.

Explaining these ideas without words or shared language was the real challenge. I turned to my usual method: crude but effective illustrations. Grabbing a sheet and some charcoal, I began to draw. The first image was a triangle, bold and simple. I pointed to the top, sketching two figures: the wise rabbit and myself. This was deliberate. I needed to show we were equals, or at least give the impression of equality. Any sign about my superiority could unravel everything.

Beneath us, I added four smaller figures, each marked with a star. These represented the four rabbits standing before me. I made a show of pointing to each of them, then back to the stars, ensuring they understood their place as leaders. Below them, I drew three more figures, slightly larger than the rest, to symbolize my three companions. I emphasized this part with deliberate gestures—pointing to the drawing, then to the rabbits themselves—making it clear that their roles were also significant.

Finally, at the base of the triangle, I sketched a larger group of rabbits: the civilians. This was the majority of the village, the foundation of our little society. To connect the leaders to the civilians, I left a blank space between the two levels, then carefully divided that space into smaller sections. Each section received its own symbols: rabbits with spears, jars (representing my glourious piss), and a crude cross for medical supplies. I hoped this visual shorthand would communicate the idea of specialized roles—military, supply, and support.

When I finished, I turned to the group. The wise rabbit’s whiskers twitched as he studied the diagram, his dark eyes scanning every line with surprising focus. He reached out, brushing a paw over the triangle, then gave a slow nod, stroking his whiskers in that thoughtful way of his. Relief washed over me. At least he understood.

The four leaders stood in silence, their usual cheer replaced by a quiet resolve. They didn’t cheer or celebrate as I feared they might, which was reassuring. This wasn’t a game to them; they understood the weight of what I was asking. If I had to guess, these rabbits weren’t the most social members of the village. They were likely parents, protectors, or loners who had already taken on the burden of keeping others safe before the village existed.

With the basics of the hierarchy established, I knew I couldn’t leave them to figure things out on their own—not yet. Over the following days, I worked closely with the four leaders and my three companions.

For the next several weeks, I dedicated my time to training them. It wasn’t just about fighting; it was about breaking their soft, gentle instincts and replacing them with something harder, sharper. I showed them how to skin animals, how to descale fish, how to gut a bird. At first, their tiny faces twisted with horror, but they adapted quickly. By the second week, they were scaling fish with the kind of mechanical efficiency that would make a factory worker proud.

Physical training was next. I had them push rocks uphill, climb the steeper, jagged side of the slope near my cave, and swim against the current in the river. It was grueling, and more than once I caught them glaring at me with what could only be described as mutinous intent. But they kept going. By the end of the third week, I knew they were ready.

The night was clear and cool, the sky a vast expanse of stars that seemed almost close enough to touch. I stood at the edge of the cave, the wise rabbit perched on my shoulder like a furry advisor. Below, the entire village had gathered, their small forms illuminated by the warm glow of firelight. There were more of them than I’d realized—easily over a hundred, most of them juveniles or adolescents. It made sense, I supposed. Few rabbits lived to adulthood in a world where everything saw them as lunch.

The wise rabbit let out a high-pitched series of squeaks, and two other rabbits near the front repeated the call. The crowd quieted almost instantly, their wide eyes fixed on me.

The four military leaders stepped forward, their movements deliberate and solemn. One by one, they squeaked what I could only assume were speeches or oaths. The crowd erupted into cheers, their tiny voices blending into a cacophony of sound that echoed through the clearing.

I should have felt proud. Instead, I felt a flicker of unease. I’d created something powerful, something dangerous. These weren’t just rabbits anymore—they were soldiers. And soldiers had a way of turning on their leaders if they didn’t like the direction they were being led.

Still, I couldn’t show weakness. I straightened my back, letting the firelight cast long, imposing shadows behind me. I was their leader, their creator, their savior. And under my rule, this village would become an empire.

Later that night, as the village celebrated below, I sat alone at the edge of the cave, staring out into the darkness.

“Humans,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “We’re not the biggest, or the fastest, or the strongest. We don’t have claws or fangs or wings. Hell, we’re barely built for survival. And yet…”

I looked down at the village, at the flickering fires and the tiny silhouettes of rabbits moving through the shadows.

“And yet we dominate. Not because of what we are, but because of who we are. We adapt. We endure. We take what’s weak and make it strong. We take chaos and make it order. And if we can’t do that, we burn it all to the ground and start over.”

The thought brought a bitter smile to my face.

“That’s the human spirit. Indomitable. Unyielding. We’re either going to conquer this world, or we’re going to drag it down with us. Either way… I’ll be remembered.”

For a moment, I let the silence wash over me, the weight of my words sinking in. Then I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands.

“Let’s see what happens next.”

Author's Note

Well, I think playing Space Marine 2 and Helldivers 2 gave me a bit of inspiration for this chapter. It's relatively short and serves as an introduction to the militia of the rabbit village.

These events take place long before the chapter Unexpected Arrivals. It seems like the human is gradually shaping the rabbits' behavior, culture, and society—don’t you think?

Thank you so much for all the comments, ideas, and feedback on the previous chapters. I truly appreciate them and make sure to read every single one.

Once again, if you have any comments, suggestions, ideas, or opinions, I’d be delighted to hear them!

I hope you enjoy this short chapter while I finish adapting and translating the next batch of chapters! :raritywink: