Hunter Anon - Chapter VII: Her Love (29/12 - IN PROGRESS)

>Adrift.
>Floating in liquid blackness, devoid of thought and sensation.
>Inside the silent abyss that is left after all existence becomes null, when body and mind lose whatever significance they hold for the mortal plane of understanding and are replaced by encompassing darkness; an entire universe of nothing and everything brought together by a total collapse of the self and which’s depths no school of science or magic can comprehend.
>A tenebrous dimension hidden from the plane of mortality and yet connected to it by the unseen strings of obscured powers.
>It is, as all eventually find out, harrowingly serene.
>Lesser creatures would be forever trapped in this gap of immaterial unreality, unable to retain even the most basic part of themselves when having no means with which to differentiate from this realm beyond both perception and tangibility.
>But not everything in creation is fragile and easily persuaded by the dark to sever all links.
>Some entities in the vastness of the universe know how to find their way when lost in oceans that exists outside time and space.
>One such entity, born of potent magic the likes of which have remained shackled for countless moons, ventured willingly into such a place and, perhaps by the invisible guidance of fate, had done so after leaving behind a beacon with which to escape it.
>This shard, piece of crystalline self, shines, and the light is blinding.
>From within it chime strange resonances, echoes of incomprehensible words that feed the invisible fires of consciousness, calling back memory and the emotions carried within them.
>A name and a face, no more important than any other, yet to the one who had evoked it, to the abandoned child that must find its way home, it is an anchor to life.
>It brings to it remembrance and recalls the final command that had been issued, that one last request, before the death of its world died, before the void.
>By virtue of unquestionable love it had to be fulfilled.
>She is master, mother, and will.
>Her voice beckons.
>Geist flies to it, eagerly.

…

>His posture is rigid and authoritarian; his jaw tenses whenever his gaze falls on you.
>Shining’s restraint from running straight to his sister is visible in the lines of his face but he can’t indulge himself as the guards eye him with suspicion.
>He has no wish to provoke them.
>Twilight, on the other hand, is free to cut the small distance between them and hugs his brother tightly.
>They share a loving reunion, nuzzling each other and finding their attires suddenly bothersome in such close proximity.
>You don’t move from your spot both because you have no desire to intrude upon their moment and because Shining Armor’s eyes were all but inviting approach.
>The minotaurs turn to you with displeasure at the arrival of soldiers to their doorstep and you gesture disarmingly at them, showing that you had nothing to do with it.
>They accept it but remain cautioned.
>Twilight is the first to speak as she cuts off the embrace.
>”I thought you would be at the Crystal Empire. What are you doing here? And why is there a whole platoon of guards with you?”
>Shining holds a smile to her but keeps you in sight.
>You wonder if your weapons and armor are the cause of it.
>”Somepony told me you had crossed into the West. This place isn’t anything like Equestria and is not exactly safe for a princess to travel through alone.”
>Twilight coos at her brother’s concern and takes a hoof to her chest.
>”That’s too sweet of you Shiny but I’m not alone, and I can’t just leave right now. I would have sent a letter if I’d knew you’d come all the way here.”
>He circles around her, standing between her and the town, and consequently you.
>”Don’t you worry about me sis. Why don’t you let me escort you back home? We can share some family time together and we both know Cadence would love to see you.”
>She nuzzles him again, briefly tempted by the lovely offer, yet knowing that there is no way she can turn away from her duty and the calling of the map.
>”I’m sorry big brother but I am here on an important mission.”
>His face darkens at her reluctance.
>”I know about that and I must insist.”
>Twilight takes a few steps back.
>”How did you know where to find me?”
>A minotaur joins you, standing to your right with his axe held firmly in front of him.
>You recognize him as the elephant’s doorman and personal guard, the one that had stood before you when you arrived.
>His voice is sardonic and dry.
>”Friends of yours?”
”Not exactly.  Worried?”
>He snorts and vigorously plants the head of the axe into the ground.
>”We got word that they were coming. See that caravan? They are well known here in the town.”
>You don’t look at them, only at the two brothers.
“We met them on the road. Friendly bunch.”
>”Guards here to join you on your quest?”
“Can’t say yet. It wasn’t me who called for reinforcements.”
>”The gryphon is many wings strong. You could use the help.”
>You don’t reply, focusing back on Twilight and her brother.
>Shining explains how Luna relayed to him the knowledge of Twilight’s call by the map and how you had been summoned by it as well, partaking on the journey together.
>She had been indulgent at first, allowing you to roam about without supervision, but had grown worried the moment in which she could no longer access to Twilight’s dreams.
>The magic behind it was one she recognized almost instantly, though she had not specified who or what was behind it there was a somberness in her that was only ever present when speaking of days of the distant past, and had thus sought Shining out, knowing that she could trust him with finding the lost princess and relay a message concerning new developments on the crisis.
>It had been part of Luna’s scheme, if her well placed worry and distrust for a dimensional interloper could be labeled as such, that Shining Armor would not stand for your continuous traveling with Twilight and would judge you accordingly upon meeting.
>She trusted him with such things, if only because she knew beforehand that Celestia would complain about intervening with destiny.
>In this she had been right and her sister had indeed chastised her when they discussed the matter of Luna’s dream predicament and misgivings towards you.
>Shining however, can only focus on pressuring her sister on forsaking her quest with what little knowledge he has, much to Twilight’s discontent.
>”I’m not going back when the fate of the world is at stake.”
>”Princess Luna has told me that the gryphons are sending their own hunters. They will handle it. This does not concern us ponies anymore.”
>”It’s too late for that. Silver is already well ahead of everyone else and the gryphons don’t even know what it is that he is searching for. Anon and I have seen it -or at least some of it- so we know just how dangerous it would be for him to have access to that kind of power. We are not giving up on this.”
>She looks at you for support but Shining cuts her off, lowering his voice enough for only his sister to hear.
>Twilight scrunches in disapproval.
>”Listen, I understand that you have been traveling with that thing-“
>”They are called humans, and he is a friend.”
>”Okay, that human, but you have to believe me when I tell you that he isn’t to be trusted.”
>”Is this because of what happened in the forest? Shining it was my fault. I panicked and I got us into that mess. If it hadn’t been for him then we would have all fared worse.”
>”It’s not that, or at least not only that. Princess Luna knows details about him. She did not share them with me and I needn’t ask since she was very adamant in her conviction when she told me that he is dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted.
>”That human is hiding something that has made her wary of him and that is good enough for me to put my hoof down and stop you from running around with him. Besides, it was one thing to have him lying naked in bed but now he walks around carrying a sword and armor? If he could kill a Grotesque on his own then I don’t dare imagine what he could do with all that.”
>His distress is painfully clear to Twilight and she does her best to comfort his anxieties by holding his hoof and smiling, but Shining is not about to give up.
>He stares meaningfully and deeply into her eyes, letting her know how serious he is and how this isn’t simply the consequence of questionable fears brought about by the mare’s near-death experience.
>The duties of the guard had at times seemed trivial and almost wholly for show, a gesture to bring a sense of security to the kingdom and nothing more, yet it was of little public knowledge that the guard, and in some cases Shining Armor himself, had been tasked with clearing areas of monsters and other dangerous wildlife, usually in order to make way for an extension of the railway or a urbanization project.
>He had gone through much in his life.
>There weren’t many ponies who could claim to have experienced the fear of battling gargoyles in the dark, of fending off against the sinister advances of the now fallen King Sombra, and to have survived the parasitic influence of the changeling queen Chrysalis.
>He had even valiantly stood up to Tirek and Discord when they had allied themselves to consume all pony magic and rule over the land, even if his had been an easily squashed act of resistance it was an exemplar one nonetheless when so many others would have simply fallen before the two tyrants.
>Shining armor had taken part in things that the average pony only heard in curious conversations of the incredible achievements of the elements of harmony and knew how to compose himself, despite his weakness to weddings and family matters he was an otherwise poised unicorn of the guard.
>And right now, he holds fast to that facet of his being when talking to his dear sister.
>”Consider the possibility that what you think you know about him is a lie and that whatever he has told you so far was only a way to gain your trust. None of us know his intentions and Luna was very clear about her suspicion.”
>”No, he is a friend. He would never do that to me.”
>Shining presses on.
>”Luna wouldn’t have sent me here if that were the case. Just back away from this one and let the gryphons handle their business. Celestia knows their hunters will not take kindly to anyone standing in the way of their catch.”
>Twilight break away from him, latching onto what she knows of you and the moments you have gone through together.
>She can’t dismiss the fact that you risked your life to rescue her, that you had saved her life, that you had been beaten bloody before her.
>Nor can she ignore the feelings towards you that had been growing steadily and had been more than clear to the two of you last night as she slept in your arms and covered you beneath her wing.
>Yet the seed of betrayal and confusion is quick to feed on even the slightest whispers of doubt, and goodness knows that there is still too much she doesn’t know about you or your world.
>And if something had been blocking Luna’s sight into her dreams, could it be that you had been the one responsible?
>Shining didn’t seem to know the details, but it still gnaws at her to consider such a possibility.
>Her eyes find you, this time dulled by uncertainty, and study you from afar, finding no closure when your eyes meet.
>She had done her best to bring you back and hadn’t once considered that you could be a more insidious individual, yet everything she had gone through so far contradicted Luna’s opinion of you.
>The air about you suddenly reminds her of how much she feared you during the early days, how scared she was to get close, both because of the unpredictable nature of your revolver and the frightening power that you had displayed in the Everfree Forest.
>So far you had killed a Grotesque, a Hydra, a pack of Timberwolves and even a gryphon.
>She always trusted you, almost blindly so, which she now considers almost in an afterthought that it could be due to the magical connection she has with you.
>There is more to you than what you appear to be, but Luna wouldn’t go to such lengths as to send a party of guard to bring her back unless she had a strong reason for it.
>And still, upon introspection, she finds that she cares deeply about you.
>Should those feeling overcome reason?
“Something’s wrong.”
>That is all you say to the minotaur before heading to the gate.
>The town guards look at you with a mixture of gratefulness and admiration, straightening their backs as you pass.
>You valiant intervention during the Timberwolf chase is fresh on their minds.
>Shining Armor stands between you and Twilight, planting his hooves firmly as he does so.
“What’s going on?”
>Twilight stammers unlike her usual self and an unknown inner struggle is evident to you under scrutiny.
>”This is my brother, Shining Armor. I’ve told you about him, I’m sure.”
>You put on a charming smile, kneel before him, and extend your hand to greet one of the famous ponies from the show.
“Anon, hunter of Earth. It is a pleasure to meet you, Twilight told me a lot of great stories about you.”
>”Shining Armor, prince of the Crystal Empire. I’m afraid I am at a disadvantage here, I don’t really know a thing about you besides your powers.”
>His words slip the faintest scent of acridness and your thoughts that he does not quite like you become even more justified.
>Nonetheless, the show always portrayed him as an affectionate brother and a good pony to boot so you remain open and friendly, despite a shaky introduction.
”I’m sure you’ll get to know me eventually. Here to lend a hand with our gryphon problem?”
>”Not exactly. I’m taking my sister back home.”
>Your shock is uninhibited as you turn to Twilight and then back to Shining.
“Why?”
>”The gryphons are taking over the hunt. Equestria is not involved anymore. It is for the best.”
”You agree with this?”
>Twilight bites her lip but otherwise says nothing.
“After what happened in the Spire you know we can’t let him win. We have to stop him.”
>Shining intervenes.
>”This isn’t something for you to fight. The order came from Princess Luna and isn’t up for discussion.”
”Silver has a lead of almost an entire week, there isn’t any time for someone else to pursue him. All that this will accomplish is giving him more breathing room. You have twenty ponies that could help us tighten the difference if you joined us.”
>”I’m not here for that.”
“Right. Well I won’t let him get to the Vaults without a fight.”
>”Then you’ll go on your own.”
>Your assessment that he isn’t fond of you is apparently correct.
>Twilight hasn’t offered her input into the conversation and so you reach out to her, eager for her opinion.
>She was, and for that matter still is, shaken by this whole ordeal and you are positive that she would be terrified upon meeting Silver again, but you two have a duty to go after him, if not because of the map and Geist’s guidance, then for Equestria’s sake and revenge for what he did to the two of you.
>Of course, you know that she would never adhere to vengeance, though perhaps she can be convinced to push on for other reasons.
>Putting one’s wellbeing in danger for the sake of completing the mission; a predicament that was going through her head long before you had asked for her judgment.
>It is a grim one to resolve and yet you are unsure that it is the only thing that has her so preoccupied.
>When she finally speaks, it is with an analytical demeanor.
>”There is no way that any gryphon will get here and find him in time. By Geist’s words it is two weeks by hoof and four days by wing to reach the Golden Frontier. We know that Silver is making a stop somewhere else and that we are not meant to follow him, but go to the city and the Vaults.
>”I can’t think of any compelling reason for this besides the thought that it is our only way of intercepting him, perhaps at the gates of the Vaults if we make it in time.
>”Before teleporting us out of the Spire, Geist did not guide us directly to them or to whatever place Silver is pursuing, instead it told us to wait here for precisely three days and that some familiar ponies would arrive. So far it hasn’t been wrong in its predictions and I believe that despite its claims of it being otherwise, it is in our side.”
>”Who is this Geist?”
>”A bodiless entity that lives within a crystal, is apparently all seeing, slightly clairvoyant, and is the only clue with have about what Silver is looking for.”
>Shining blinks, looks for any signs that Twilight might be teasing, and upon finding only her ironclad determination he closes his eyes.
>”What are you trying to say?”
>Twilight gives you a quick glance before focusing on her brother once more.
>”I am not going to turn around.”
>The reaction is instantaneous.
>”You can’t be serious! Think about your situation for a second!”
>”I have and everything points out that we are the only ones that can hope to stop him in time. If Geist knew you were coming then it is safe to say that it also knew about the gryphon hunters, yet he didn’t mention them at all. I am convinced that it is because they won’t make a difference.”
>”And that other issue?”
>Whatever he is referring to, you are contritely unaware, and so concentrate on evaluating Twilight response.
>She considers it carefully, her face darkened by the shadows brought about by the high noon sun as it falls over her mane, horn and hood.
>You spot movement behind the fierce shape of Shining Armor and are met with the energetic waving of Cinnamon Heart and her mother over by their wagon.
>The arrival of the guards had dominated your attention and you failed to recognize that leading the friendly caravan that had come along with them were the two perky mares.
>Smiling brightly you wave back.
>”I don’t care.”
>That is all she has to say of the matter and so Shining considers the only avenue available to him now that his sister refuses to part ways with you.
>”Fine.”
>With a light of his horn, Shining unsheathes the crystal sword that he had been carrying with him, letting it gleam proudly in the sunlight before pointing it towards you.
>Twilight jumps back at the sudden development and stands between the two of you, shielding you from harm.
>The ponies at the caravan gasp in fright, unable to comprehend what is going on as they hide behind their wooden wagon.
>The guard that had been accompanying Shining all go for their weapons, as do the guards both at the gate and those that had gathered wearyingly behind the safety of the walls.
>You instinctively jump backwards and grab onto the butt of you revolver but do not take it out of its holster.
>There has to be an explanation for this act of aggression and you know, regardless of your hands’ impulse, that you would never harm Twilight’s brother.
>”Stand down! This is between the hunter and myself!”
>He barks out the order and his followers do not question it.
>The minotaurs do not lower their weapons.
>“Shining, what are you doing?!”
>Visibly shaken, Twilight tries to wrap her head around such unnecessarily violent behavior and whatever conclusion she seems to reach worries her even further.
>Shining Armor speaks directly to you.
>”You plan on continuing your quest with my sister by your side?”
>The answers is a slow, deliberate nod.
>”I do not trust you, hunter. You put her in mortal danger and now presume to do so again by chasing after a dangerous criminal across uncharted lands.
>”You are a stranger in this world, a dangerous and untrustworthy one at that, and I can’t see how any pony would willingly put Twilight’s life in your hooves.
>”So if you plan on going through with this, if you don’t choose right here and now to go back to Equestria and leave this matter to my sister and I, then I have no other choice but to test your mettle.”
>Twilight mouths the same question as before, only this time is strangled and fretful.
>”What are you doing?”
>”I am challenging him to a duel.”
>She doesn’t move; she doesn’t dare breathe.
>The point of the sword is far enough that in a normal circumstance it shouldn’t prove to be an immediate threat but Shining’s telekinesis can easily spear-head it into your stomach like a bullet.
>You stumble backwards like a blind-man, focused so deeply in the object that you can clearly make out the almost liquid shroud of his aura coating the crystal blade and its electric blue glimmer under the sunlight.
>Dry lipped and suddenly feeling overburdened by your gear you try look for an answer in the face of your companion but her own ghosts and confusion offer no solace.
>She questions him again, yelling in disbelief.
>It is no use, the declaration left nothing to be argued.
>Shining Armor does not flinch at her outburst, not even when she grabs at his sword with her magic or when she stands before him with her front hooves pressed against his chest and a despairing expression.
>He does not push her off, but the resolution behind his eyes eventually convinces her to step off of him and turn to you for the answer that decides what is to come.
>You know what has to be said; it lingers in your throat like burning coal, melting its way through your chest if only to be free, exposed to the air and grass.
>But how could you, when never in your life have you taken arms against another nor have you known the training of steel and blood that any soldier would have, the very same one that protects Shining in a way that his armor could never hope to do on its own.
>Day after day he has been aware of what it takes to be a warrior, to lift his sword and face the dangers of a guards life with his chin held high, mane dancing in the wind.
>He hasn’t moved from his spot ever since he spoke, his sword remains in place.
>Is there any hope for you to stand against him, to go head to head against the captain of the pony guard?
>Your forte is restrained, the revolver must stay silent in this fight, and your expertise in combat can’t match or overcome his.
>Thinking of ponies and their kind nature gives you some comfort.
>Even if you are facing a captain of the guard, you convince yourself that there is little evidence to point out the stallion’s abilities, and that his expression does not tell stories nor is it crowned with skill.
>And still, more doubt holds your tongue.
>Could you hurt him when he is Twilight’s brother?
>The alternative would be to leave it all behind, to stop on your quest and return to Equestria like a broken dog whose helpfulness to his master has been spent.
>You won’t let him escape.
>The hand fights against the fear, and reaches for your own sword, rough and unwelcoming in this situation, with mechanical precision.
>Shining allows a smile to reflect how pleased he is that you have chosen to stand for what you believe, even if the trial that you must face is one that he knows you have no way of surmounting.
>With your weapon ready, you let is touch that of your challenger -the clinging of metal as quiet as the beating of a butterfly’s wings and even more fleeting- and you speak.
“I accept.”
>There is nothing else to say.
>Twilight lowers her head in silent defeat and walks away from the two of you, leaving you to the audience of guards both pony and minotaur, and the growing crowd that has gathered behind the safety of the walls.
>She has no interest in violence and can’t wrap her head around the situation, yet there is nothing to do if not flee.
>Shining is forced to ignore her distress.
>”Follow me.”
>He marches out into the open field, his followers dispersing to give you ample room to maneuver without worrying over anything interfering with the fight.
>Citizens cross the gates and join the visitors in their spectating.
>Twilight does not, and you do not blame her for it.
>The steel is heavy and your hand is tense, fingers closed around the leather like the deathgrip of a corpse.
>You envy the unicorn’s proficient control over mind and body so clear in the calmness of his gait.
>A quick drawing and firing of the iron would end this in smoke and dust but that isn’t an option, not against him.
>Is he aware of the brutal difference in your strengths if you were to use your most powerful weapon or is he simply testing your ability for combat?
>Whatever it is, his face does not betray the intentions of his heart.
>”This is good enough.”
>His posture ascertains his confidence and his skills, leaving bare the clear disadvantage in which you stand.
>You think back to Forging Grip’s advice on gryphons  and chose to put his wisdom to use.
>Light on the knees, left foot planted firmly while the right one is kept back and ready to push you in the direction of your choice.
>Stance lowered, back bent slightly forward, a hand on the grip and another on the pommel.
>No need for the enchantment, not yet.
>The bandana seems to constrict around your neck with the viciousness of a viper and you breathe deeply to calm yourself.
>You feel ridiculous assuming an amateur pose against a seasoned fighter.
>”I don’t know the rules of your world, but here we are quite straightforward. The first one to yield, be unable to stand, or dies, loses. You can use any of weapons and powers at your disposal; I think you’ll need them.”
“What about you?”
>Watching his weapon floating candidly would be, under different circumstances, mesmerizing and beautiful.
>”I’ll keep to my sword and defensive spells, no need to make you dodge fireballs and cause a wildfire.”
>You nod.
>There is nothing else to do.
>A circle of bodies has formed around you, wide enough to call multiple fighters in, and every soul is waiting eagerly for the announcement of combat and the subsequent spectacle of steel.
>Bets are placed in hushes but hurried tones, small bags passing from hand to hoof and vice-versa with greedy eagerness, each placing their trust on the fighter they knew best.
>No western considered the possibility of you losing, not after what they had seen.
>The Equestrians, true to their allegiance, put all their money on their captain, though they are careful to keep out of his sight when indulging in such practices.
>Daisy and her companion join; he lifts her on his shoulders to provide a proper view of what is to come and she confides in him that she’ll have to ask the Cinnamons for a hefty load of drink and food since you are bringing her more business than she has seen in years.
>He places a hand on her flank and she allows it.
>Your skin feels aflame under the grasp of the manacloth gloves, the scabbard is heavy on your back, and the holster weighs you forwards and to the ground like an anchor.
>Shining does not blink.
>The gun is silent as he signals the start of the fight and rushes to meet you.
>Wakeful and ready, you prepare for his advance.
>He swipes at you high and wide; you duck and back-step, trying to keep him at a distance, making the sword’s cross guard pass a hair away from your skull.
>It is with some air of comfort that you realize that he is refraining from using the blade against you, choosing instead for the blunt and not as deadly side of the weapon.
>Wanting to steal this advantage, you lunge at him with a far stab and he dodges with hardly any effort, doing a turn as he does so and managing to kick your sword.
>The shock forces your hands to cramp up if you are to maintain grip, even if your arms ache and an electrical sensation runs through your muscles.
>From the crowd comes Forging Grip’s booming command.
>”Do not let him hit the sword! He might break it!”
>You begin circling him, hunting, evaluating.
>Both of you are locking eyes in a metaphorical fight of will.
>Shining goes for the feet with clean, sharp swipes, pushing you back, testing your balance and reflexes with the tip of the blade.
>His telekinesis allows his attack to take on a range that you can’t hope to match, protects him from your reach as the distance between you grows with each attack.
>You aim and fail to put a stop to his assault by connecting the two swords in a low cut, and before you can think of doing it again you hear the voice again.
>”That will chip the blade! Use the sword only to attack!”
>Another swipe misses, then another, and you keep your eyes on the glimmering aggressor, following and predicting its movements.
>On the third pass, you crush the weapon under your boot, momentarily flouting the magic that wields it.
>You sweep it as far back as you can, and charge your opponent.
>Shining is unfazed by this and you find yourself violently and abruptly on the ground.
>Harsh ringing in your ears, a numbness of the neck, an unforgiving pain on the back of your head.
>The guard had found its target.
>You don’t want to get back up, your vision is unfocused and the holster pressure on your stomach and lungs reaps your breath away.
>There is a mixed taste of blood, grass, and shame in your mouth.
>Half the crowd cheers, the other wines like wounded animals.
>You are fighting a warrior whose powers allow him a level of control over the battlefield that you could never hope to gain or overcome.
>His sword is an enemy all by itself, able to attack from any angle or direction, yet the only way to win the fight is if you defeat its wielder.
>But your gun isn’t an option, and you are forced to breach his guard, standing between him and the object, and finish the fight before he gets a chance to react.
>The plan seems hopeless though, for you’ve already been harshly punished for testing such a tactic.
>Twilight is not here.
>Your nose feels broken.
>You don’t want to get up.
>”That is all you could have done against a flight of gryphons?”
>It isn’t the same.
>You want to explain that your true power can’t be called out in this situation; your greatest strength must not be called forth and has now left you frail.
>Forced to fight on Shining’s own terms you are vulnerable and disadvantaged.
>This isn’t fair.
>”On your hooves, hunter.”
>He barks the words, a drill sergeant that asks the impossible out of his unexperienced recruit.
>And you, at the mercy of your superior, answer without a single complaint.
>You can see the small bloodstains that your nose and lip have left on the bent grass where your face had landed.
>The crystal sword, floating by magic and bound by thought, hovers patiently in the air between you and your opponent while yours lies shamefully on the ground beside you.
>Shining gives you a chance to take it, to collect your senses and quiet your thoughts.
>Instinct plays the song of the revolver inside your mind and for a couple of seconds your hand rests on its butt, wondering if you can somehow use it to level the fight.
>Firewing’s broken visage dissuades you.
>You spit, you snort blood and sinuses out of you nasal cavity and it burns as it flies away and disappears from your sight.
>Again you lock your joints and hold the sword in front of you like a ward to shelter you from darkness.
>Forging Grip calls to you.
>”Without his sword he’ll be forced to rely on magic alone! Destroy it! Quickly now!”
>A sound enough plan, but how can you carry it out when it moves as swiftly as a poltergeist?
>Shining doesn’t wait for you to figure it out.
>The edge comes down upon you and you side step, only for the cross guard to pull you off your feet and back onto the floor, this time landing on your back.
>Once your head connects with the dirt you are blinded.
>Shades of grey and black cover your eyes in a shroud and leave you stranded in an island of your own, away from the world and the duel.
>Your brain boils and wants to burst out of its cage of bone.
>It takes what you judge to be a full minute to see the sky and the sun, low on the west.
>The light hurts your eyes and your left hand is numb.
>You shiver unreasonably, struck by a sudden bout of icy chills, and you are certain that your skull has cracked.
>Planting your feet is a hard task, but keeping the sword from shaking on your hand is even more so.
>Shining is not pleased with your current state after what have been only two strikes.
>You haven’t landed a single hit on him; he hasn’t broken a sweat.
>His blade waits for you to make a move, and presses you to hold your ground once you don’t.
>That damned piece of forged crystal, cutting the air and hounding every step you take as it tries you sweep you off your feet.
>He pushes you back again, forcing you to make a mad dance in order to avoid the edge that bites close to your shins.
>Blood trails down your mouth and chin.
>You are getting dizzy, vomit threatening to gush up your throat as you follow the motions of the blade and see it cutting so close to your boots and leg guards.
>And then you understand.
>A block with the plate; a strong kick to the fuller; a cracking of the blade.
>You continue dodging, trained eyes determining the attacks with a hawkeyed precision.
>Then you plant your left boot hard and meet the fanning swipe of the blade.
>It cuts the hard leather with little difficulty, but when it collides with the steel it finds its strength lacking and outmatched against your immovable leg and the armor that safeguards you.
>The clanging of metal against crystal leaves Shining stunned long enough for you to bring your right foot down on his weapon which, trapped as it was against the layers of leather and metal, shatters like glass.
>A blue and purple mist gathers around your feet, the handle and tip of his weapon are the only recognizable pieces that are left.
>The crowd roars, Daisy seems to be the loudest, to some chagrin to her companion’s ears, and Shining stares at you as if he was now faced with a completely different contender.
>Confidence surges through you and some certainty returns to your heart.
>Even with training and magic, the stallion is now weaponless although not defenseless thanks to his mastery over shielding spells.
>Your eyes assess what his next move might be, and are left puzzled when he vanished from sight in a cerulean flash.
>Almost too late you recognize it as a sign of teleportation.
>You jump forward, blindly and without any true clue as to his possible location, avoiding his buck only by luck.
>Turning quickly you make a wide sideway cut that is summarily blocked by a gelatinous magic shield -which resembles his cutie mark- before it banishes and from behind it comes another kick that connects, barely and rather weakly, with your right forearm.
>Seeing this as a chance to take on the offensive, you press the advantage that you have with precipitated slashes that bounce against his peculiar protection.
>It absorbs every impact with ease, meeting every single one and leaving no occasion for the unicorn to be outmaneuvered.
>Your onslaught shows no result but your heaving, and your now tired arms.
>Shining isn’t strained from the exchange and once he sees an opening he pushes the shield towards you like a wall, hitting with such abominable force as to throw you back.
>This time you don’t land flatly on your back, avoiding further head injury by landing on your side and rolling on the ground.
>It does, however, leave you with little energy left to carry on.
>You wish for Forging Grip’s insight in this moment, or at least for him to take your place, but as it becomes obvious that none of this will come, you pull yourself up on one knee, trying to gather what strength you have left.
>Shining isn’t willing to give you time for that, ramming towards you with his horn at the ready.
>Ready to roll out of the way, you wait for him to breach the distance, and again he teleports.
>You fail to react as a pop comes from your right and he kicks your shoulder.
>You fall, wincing and groaning from the pain caused by his solid hit, and the sword is left at his hooves.
>He picks it in his magic and flings it at you, touching down not far from your grasp.
>Picking it up, still bold and refusing to be defeated, you wipe the blood off your swollen lower lip, stretch your sore shoulder, and take on your weak, amateur stance.
>With a light from his horn, Shining lifts the left behind hilt of his broken weapon, almost as if it were a rock or cross, and sends it against you in another one of his assaults.
>You can’t match its speed, or the dexterity with which it is controlled, and blunt, merciless hits lands across your body.
>For a time you are able to block with your arms, but eventually your guard is breached, and the attacks find their target on your right hand fingers, then your abdomen.
>You drop to your knees, he hits you straight on the jaw, and you collapse.
>Shallow, labored breaths accompany the numbing pain that spreads all over the side of your face; throbbing fingers that shake uncontrollably ache and sting.
>Coughing is followed by you spitting a lump of blood and fumbling blindly for your weapon.
>Barely lucid, you believe you see Twilight crying by your side, begging you not to move as she heals you.
>But she looks different somehow.
>Her mane is shadowed purple, almost black, straight on the corners of her face and curled on the back ends where it falls down the sides of her neck, and strands of grey are brusquely strewn around it.
>Tearful, lusterless yellow eyes pleading for your wellbeing as her pale grey cheeks are soaked with fear.
>There is something unfamiliar to her magic and the platinum glow of her horn, and you can’t spot her wings.
>She calls to you desperately, as if you had gotten lost in the fog.
>”Come back to me! Come back to me, please!”
>An ethereal bolt hits your chest and you inhale sharply, like a man that has barely survived a shipwreck and has just come out to the surface of the cold ocean waters.
>Eyes wide open, you see Shining approaching, hilt levitating by his side.
>Behind you stands the crowd, nameless faces that have gone quiet while they wait for the end of the duel.
>In front of you are only the captain, and the seas and the burning city of wood and planks that has replaced the forests and hills where Timberwolves had once ventured from in vicious chase.
>”Don’t let them take you from me!”
>It isn’t Twilight, nor any other mare you recognize, yet her voice rings familiar and a name floats around your brain –close, yet eluding you.
>Pushed by mere force of will and unquenchable desire to stay with her, you pick up your sword with your left hand, rest on one knee, and press your free hand on the blade.
>Two words and it comes alight.
>In your head it sounds again, almost like a war cry from a mare that is now nowhere to be found.
>”Don’t let them take you!”
>The vision is replaced by sharp, harsh reality, and the hurt that envelopes your body.
>You see Shining send his weapon against you and you go for the revolver.
>It flies straight at you, aiming for your chest, an arrow with a round, dull tip ready to pummel you again.
>You dash, positioning Shining slightly to the right and the hurling piece directly in front of you.
>The old roar punctures the afternoon and an eruption of purple, unfiltered sunlight bleeds into the air, scorching everything it touches.
>Nothing is left of the hilt; the shot goes through it as if it didn’t even admit its existence, and heads slightly up and to the left of Shining Armor.
>He doesn’t react to your approach.
>Paralyzed as he is by the terrifying power that he has witnessed and the heat that radiates from the beam that had passed only two meters from him, he simply can’t take action against you.
>Shell-shocked and wide-eyed, he turns slowly to see where the shot landed and catches the explosion in the distance which’s raging sound is too similar to the clap of thunder.
>He breaks out of his stupor just to see you coming at him and reflexively casts a shield.
>The burning, spellbound sword cuts through it as if it was cloth, and it sets it on fire in the same way.
>Following the motions, you clip him on the base of his horn with your revolver and he drops, momentarily stunned.
>You stand over him, the barrel aimed at his helmet and the sword hanging from your side, flames still licking at the air.
>In truth, you could not lift it again if it came to it, even if you have just found out that the enchantment can best his defense.
>Shining tests your gaze while the onlookers are caught in early celebrations and disheartened whines from the guard ponies.
>No word comes out of your mouth while you pant like a dog, muscles screaming at you in pain.
>All you do is hold a grimace of pain and hope that he surrenders.
>He smiles and gets up with a calmness of a sage.
>You don’t stop him.
>”I bet I could get you to blackout if I threw a rock at you.”
>The lack of a rebuttal is confirmation enough.
>”There’s a strong spirit in you, and an abominable power in that cannon of yours, but we’ve got much work to do in regards to your close combat skills.”
>He extends a hoof for you to shake.
>”You win, hunter. Now let’s go get you some ointments.”
>You collapse next to him, letting go of your arms as you fall.
“Think I’ll just wait here.”
>His laughter is rich and honest, and he sits by you.
>”If it’s of any consolation, you’ve got more guts than any other stallion I’ve met.”
>It isn’t, not really, but you allow it to bring some meager relief.
>The air is chilling as it travels down your windpipe in protracted inhales; the grass cushions your aching body only enough to make you long for the inn’s bed and the softness of Twilight’s fur.
>You inspect your teeth with your tongue, tasting blood but finding them in an average health.
>Until you notice the sizzling sound of the grass and the still glowing sword, and you stumble over your words calling out the flames before their will extends any further across the field.
>Shining watches the whole interaction with intrigue.
>”Enchantments. That’s very resourceful of you.”
>Long minutes pass with you laying in place and the captain keeping you company with light, often one sided comments as he unsuccessfully tries to start a conversation which you are, at least for the moment, uninterested in having.
>Much of what he says you ignore, the rest comes in in broken syllables that you slip through your fingers, but you catch wind of his claims regarding your kin’s frailty and lack of endurance, mocking you by claiming that he has met mares who could have taken a much harder hit than you.
>You stare at him, ready to argue that you species make up for such deficiencies by having other traits, when a different gleam to his eyes triggers the question.
“What was the point of all this?”
>The reason behind it had lingered inside of you but it needed a confirmation, undisputed evidence to it, and the stallion was sure to provide.
>He searches the crowd for something and speaks.
>”It was about trust, and duty. Princess Luna does not trust you. She sees something in you that forces her to feel that way and had asked me to come get Twilight out of this place, or at the very least away from you, and after what had happened in the Everfree I had every reason to do so.”
>His gaze falls on you and its weight is undeniable.
>”I blamed you for it, part of me still does, but she doesn’t and I needed to know for sure just who you were.
>”A fight isn’t really the way to settle things, but for stallions of the guard it builds character and it displays more than just their discipline and skill. It puts their spirit to bear, and their emotions blend into each strike.
>”I see that you were capable of killing me, or at least harm me, from the moment we began, and still you refused to do it, trusting your blade and amateur fencing to carry you through the duel. I was surprised when my sword connected with your leg since it had never been my intention to harm you beyond a few scrapes and bruises, and you were smart enough to take advantage of my reaction. It was a shame that you hadn’t considered the fact that a hilt might still be a reliable weapon and that you weren’t able to finish the fight without having to destroy my sword.
>”All things considered, you are more capable than what I thought you’d be, or at the very least more resourceful. I’ll have to lend you a hoof to get in shape though, the gryphon is not to be taken lightly and you need to improve your technique. He’ll chew you up in a second if you face him in close combat.”
>You feel the conversation progress in an almost dreamlike fashion, with Shining’s words merging with one another and his message is lost to you like the voice of someone underwater.
>Swallowing hard, tasting blood, you blunder out what you would have told him the moment you awoke in Canterlot if you had had the chance, as if speaking of some sin which you are only now brave enough to confess.
“I never wanted her to get hurt.”
>Shining stops and looks at the crowd, running your words through his head.
>Perhaps he is looking for some hidden meaning in them, or perhaps he regrets having forced you into aggression.
>”It’s too late to say that, but I appreciate it. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
>He smiles, an honest gesture of friendship.
>”Do you like cider?”
>The question doesn’t hit you for a couple of seconds and you turn to look at him to make sure that you heard him right.
>When you realize that he had indeed asked what you had thought you laugh gruffly, genuinely, and then catch sight of Twilight, dashing towards you two with a queer look.
>Shining Armor waves and calls out to her jovially, as if he were spotting her over a crown in Canterlot on a casual, sunny afternoon, but when she walks up to him, she stomps her hooves and her expression reflects her indignity with glaring clarity.
>For the first time since you’ve met him, he looks utterly vulnerable.
>”Hey sis, let me explain. There’s no need to-“
>She shushes him with the fire in her eyes.
>Shining can only take a step back before she begins her assault.
>”You two are the most irresponsible, foalish, brutish bunch I have ever met!”
>He gulps frightfully and her angry tone causes him to take another step while you are forced to remain where you are, waiting for either her punishment or her remedy, whatever might come first.
>”I told you that I trusted him! He has been a good friend to me and has cared for me greatly! There was no need for you to get into such a pointless brawl!”
>”Twily, I-“
>”I don’t want to hear it!”
>He doesn’t say another word and once she is certain that he is at her mercy, she turns towards you.
>”And you.”
>Now a feeling of dread takes over you, not as it had been before the Grotesque or the Hydra, with your life on the precipice, but one less tangible and seemingly grounded in the form of a delicate mare who now looks very exacerbated.
>Just like Shining, you gulp and beg for the ground to swallow you, or for the mercy of blacking out, both of which have apparently become a far too impossible outcome as her eyes hold you still.
>Her nostrils flare out as she bring her muzzle uncomfortably close to your face with not a sliver of physical attraction or leer in it.
>Her face is red and reminds you of dragons, which takes away any femininity and allure that it would otherwise have.
>”Why did you accept? Why didn’t you just let us discuss the issue instead of indulging him? You even went as far as to use your weapon! Even in Equestria, they heard it! Did you stop to think what would happen if your aim was off?! If you had actually hit him with it?!”
>Each breath she takes is hot and makes your lungs feel blistered from the inside.
>She chews you two up for quite some time, reprimanding both of you in equal measure and disdain.
>No one dares interrupt her and no one comes to your rescue, although everyone has taken to watch even as they return to what would be their expected tasks.
>The minotaurs keep to their posts, refusing to grant a safe haven for the pony guards who are both embarrassed and frightened by the act of royal vexation.
>Those from the caravan pass through the gate undisturbed and without a glance from its protectors and disappear into the streets, making their way to merchants with which they do business and who had been awaiting a new shipment of all sorts of Equestrian goods and, in the case of a certain blacksmith, a crate filled with some generous import of Las Pegasus tobacco.
>It isn’t until Twilight is done, mouth dry and a little out of breath, that you dare move, effectively sitting up straight, despite a thorough aching and a spell of dizziness.
>You speak and, as if your thoughts were connected for the briefest of moments or because he could read your actions and knew what you were about to say, Shining’s voice echoes yours.
“We’re sorry.”
>She composes herself and runs a hoof down her muzzle before doing that famous old relaxation technique that Cadence had taught her.
>The bleeding of your lip and the inside of your mouth has stopped, and there are only long, blurred stains on your skin to remind anyone of it.
>It seems to trouble her and prompts her to move on.
>”Are you two done with all of this? Can we get back to saving Equestria?”
>Shameful silence and nodding gives her the answer she wanted, and with a flick of her tail she leaves in the direction of the town.
>”Let’s go explain everything to the chief before he kicks us out of town and prevents us from having some decent lunch.”
>Look at you from the corner of her eye she then adds.
>”I’ll patch you up afterwards. Maybe that way you’ll think twice about fighting.”
>You really wish she would offer you some healing magic instead of more harshness, but the pain does not go beyond stinging of bruises and shallow cuts that you eventually manage to walk off.
>At the gates, Twilight vouches for Shining and his ponies, and clarifies what their intentions are.
>The guards accept the explanation but allow only for the passage of the Captain so that he may have a word with the chief, which the stallion politely agrees to, aware of the vigilant looks of the minotaur that addresses him.
>The party of three get to the tent without delay and discuss the next course of action now that Geist pseudo-prophecy has come to pass.
>Understandably, the elephant feels insulted and betrayed at the sight of armed ponies at his doorstep, especially after offering such substantial help to the Princess.
>Twilight quickly diffuses the situation, claiming it to be the consequence of a miscommunication between one of the Princesses and the guard, and that none of them meant to worry the people of the West, but instead coming only in search of a royal pony they thought had gone missing.
>Shining Armor elaborates further, although his insight is dismissed as tedious by the old elephant who is now satisfied in enough measure to conclude that the parade of embarrassed and worried visitors is honest in its claims.
>Inwardly he reminds himself that Equestrians are hardly ever malicious in their intents.
>Once his heart is settled he comments, rather crudely, about your worn state.
>You don’t offer him an entertaining answer and so he ignores the subject altogether.
>With his blessing and a last gesture of generosity in the form of bags of food and a couple more skins of water to be requested at the inn, he bides you safe passage out of his town and deeper into the West, though not without first giving a careful description of the road that you must travel and advising you to avoid fellow travelers, emphasizing those that traveled either alone or accompanied by an animal.
>When prodded about it he explained he was referring to the renowned monster hunters, but refused to say anything more.
>The conversation done and your time in Stripped Tusks at an end, you three bow before the old creature before leaving him to the shifting shadows of his fire pits and the brooding colors of his expression.
>He sees on your backs the signs of troubled times, of scorching days that bleed into freezing nights, all of it full of hardship and pain.
>On too many occasions has he witnessed heroes and heroines go off to fulfill their destinies, and he had grown a habit of being keenly aware of the tumultuous winds that they either chased or that followed in their wake.
>For each champion that holds the weight of the world there is an equally powerful darkness that they must challenge, and the chief has long ago changed the narrow views of hero worship for those of what he knows is cynicism and pessimism.
>He has convinced himself that the scars he wears on his coat are there to remind him of that and make sure he never overcomes the memory of those times of adversity.
>If fate is kind and the letter he sent to the Council reaches them in time, then the gryphon will fall quietly, with only his blood to be spilled.
>But far too often, caught in the burning middle ground between righteous deeds and acts of evil, the innocent and unfortunate are forced to suffer.
>In what he would later remember to as a brief slip into weakness and a faltering will, he sends a short prayer, first to the Goddess and then to whatever powers might hear him, begging that this brewing storm does not catch the fair people and that nothing comes out of these outsiders’ wild hunt for magic.
>He prays that the lights in the sky did not signal an approaching calamity and that the world need not withstand another era of rage brought about by a long-forgotten being, like the one his parents suffered under merciless Ohr, 500 years ago.
>All this eventually leads him to meditate and begin a careful examination of the Goddess’s legend, searching for any detail that he might have missed and that might hint as to the nature and fate of the interloping gryphon.
>The story is an old one, amongst the oldest of the western lands, and by time it has become perfectly intertwined with each other piece of folklore.
>Every tribe has had a part to play in the Goddess’s journey, in her rise to glory, each of them converging upon her great city, crossing through the archways that would later come to wear their names.
>Gryphons, most likely because of the fabled one’s affinity to them, have always had been held with a certain level of exaggerated respect, and their feather, depending on their color, were seen as signs of who they truly were.
>The dark ones, unjustifiable connected with the massacre of Verenheights, misbegotten bringers of doom; crimson or gold, representing valor, inner strengths, the glorious feats of Blaze forever linked to them; blue or green, of emotion and passion, artists and dreamers.
>Then there are the white ones, those with shining destinies that are to be fulfilled, them who are sought out in times of need, regardless of their worth.
>But time had never gifted the West with another one of silvery shine.
>That was solely reserved for the awakened Lonely King, he who has transcended time to reunite with his one true love.
>Yet such a conclusion is devoid of comfort.
>The gryphon that had stood before him and asked for the tower is not crowned Blaze, awake and full of vigor, nor the child of shadows, the one who guards the Goddess’s secrets so close to his heart, and neither the Guardian, sentinel who had relinquished his true form after saving his creator and the city of gold.
>This one is a stranger, brought here by perilous causality instead of prophecy, and his unforeseen coming unravels the fable.
>He can see this plainly, unbiased by religion or devotion, but he fears that the others will be shackled by their beliefs, become instruments of tragedy and conspiracies born in distant lands.
>So the elephant ponders and wonders, watching the flames, and in his heart he drafts another letter, not to those that rule the capital but to a master of bow and spear, one to which he advices to gather forces and march to the heart of the West.
>He never sends such a letter and, months later when news of the city and Vaults reach him, he will sulk, question if his inaction had been indirectly responsible for it, and more scars will decorate his flesh.

…

>The three of you walk into the inn, asking Daisy for one last meal while , much to her disappointment at seeing her new two favorite customers leaving and with them, the memorable days full of things both extraordinary and entertaining.
>When approached on the subject of keeping some of your discarded belonging she waves a hoof at the princess’s overly humble attitude, reassuring her that she will do so without charge and with the watchfulness that she would put to anything of her own.
>Each of you rise a glass in toast (two of juice, two of alcohol) and wish for good fortune and safe roads, leaving with bittersweet cheerfulness.
>Daisy is dispirited to hear that there is no telling when you’ll pass through the town again, but allows herself some amusement in giving a flirtatious wink to the pony in immaculate armor, saying she will be eager to have him spend a night or two under her roof.
>Shining is clearly upset by this, troubled as to how to word the fact that he is happily married, not out of any ill-conceived notion that his heart is suddenly not fully dedicated to Cadence but rather his interest in turning the innkeeper down without causing her much distraught, all of which causes the ludicrous zebra visible delight and audible laughter.
>Beyond the walls the pony guards are found resting lazily, chatting away with each other, a couple of them engaged with their counterparts at the gates.
>Explaining the group’s new orders and direction is simple enough, and you are about to set off when a female voice calls out to you from the distance.
>”Sir Anon! Lady Princess! Wait up!”
>Running towards you while her family and their cart march steadily out of the town is Cinnamon Heart, mane flying behind her.
>The cart’s pullers show no signs of strain or interest in quickening their pace, same with Cinnamon’s parents and the others that constitute the caravan, including the curious addition of the three nervous bison you recognize from the inn.
>Twilight welcomes her with a smile, as do you.
>”Hey Cinnamon. Did you need anything?”
>”Yes!”
>She closes her mouth suddenly with her hooves, controlling her outburst.
>”Sorry. Yes, princess.”
>Twilight shakes her head, her smile steadfast.
>”My parents and I have to go further west, to Lumenaria and then north, to the cave city of Cyraalun. Are you two going that way? Would you mind traveling together?”
>The princess shares a look of confusion with you, the unfamiliar names a fog in her mind.
>”Are any of those places close to The Golden Frontier?”
>Now it’s the other mare’s to show bafflement.
>”The Golden Frontier? Where did you hear that old name? It hasn’t been used for centuries. Everypony knows it as Lumenaria now, from here to beyond the sacred mountain. You should update your maps once you get back to Equestria.”
>One of the guards brings out a rather rustic yet royally sanctioned map that the party had procured from the Crystal Empire library, amongst the only places where one could be found, and after a quick examination of it turns out no settlement has been marked (providing instead what seems to be just a detailed topography of the land), Twilight takes it upon herself to make all necessary additions with the help of the friendly mare, while at the back of her mind she questions how such a map could have been available a thousand years ago.
>A wordless conjuration and the sharp, lightning movement of a quill names all the cities and small towns.
>Lumenaria, Cyraalun, Argath, Stripped Tusks, Bon Dunas, Gora, Edimus, South Winds and North Winds, Frostcall, and a couple points of interest such as known inns across the Big Western Highway.
>She begs the princess to mark certain areas as “avoid at all costs” or “request monster hunter passage”, amongst which are Ohragin, the Plains of Galathia, and Whitestar’s Road, a mountain range, almost to the southernmost edge of the land.
>She doesn’t explain why she has done so and you two don’t ask, but these land is wild and free and the answer seems obvious.
>Cinnamon speaks on a light note.
>”Golden Frontier was a symbolic title used back in the times when the Goddess lived there and the nomads journeyed to find her in search of permanent homes and protection. The city didn’t get its true name until almost two hundred years after the Goddess departed and the migrations ended, but I haven’t heard anypony calling it like that outside of legend and ancient lore.”
>Twilight brings her head close and commends the mare on her knowledge on these lands.
>”Well, its great to have somepony to give us a hoof. Just how much do you know about the West?”
>Cinnamon beams with enthusiasm at the thought of helping the princess, her eyes shining with pride and determination.
>”Don’t look any further Lady Princess. I am your mare when it comes to all things from beyond the borders of Equestria. I know every town, every inn, every important landmark, and every safe route from the Border to the fortress of Argal!”
>Then adds with a more sheepish tone.
>”Although I have not been to the fabled bastion of the monster hunters, but I still know everything about it.”
>Twilight giggles and looks to the caravan as it nears.
>Golden Cinnamon stands by his daughter and pushes her close in a hug.
>”Did she bring you our proposal?”
>”We’d be delighted to have you come with us. I would certainly feel better with a seasoned caravan guiding us.”
>”And about that other business?”
>Twilight expresses her ignorance on the subject.
>”You didn’t tell them about those three?”
>Cinnamon Heart pouts and looks away.
>”I was about to.”
>You interject.
“What’s this about?”
>The stallion, with a motion of his head, points to the three bison.
>”Those three are employees of one of the great merchant barons of the West. Belmon is his name. Charming one, if you ignore his greed, irritability, and total lack of actual charm. Which is to say he is not pleasant. At all. We don’t answer to him, which I am always grateful for.
>”Anyways, they are rather spooked by your appearance, not to mention that tale of you killing a whole pack of timberwolves by yourself. They wanted to have a word with you but when thinking that your destination and that of my caravan might coincide, well, they just had to approach us and beg that we ask you for help.”
>You cross your arms, resting one of your palms on the butt of the revolver as you scrutinize the bison in question.
“Do you know what kind of help they need?”
>Cinnamon Heart nods.
>”They came across some trouble in one of the branching roads of the Big Western Highway, left their cart behind after trying to escape from a lost manticore and would like you to retrieve it for them, surely along with any cargo they might have had.”
>You do not take your eyes off of them, studying with the same severity of an owl hunting its night meal.
>None of the three lift their gazes to meet yours, fidgeting and hiding their hooves, something that would normally make you hesitant and distrusting enough to refuse them.
>Reminding yourself that the peoples of this world are not as two-faced as your own kind and that it would be in the interest of harmony and friendship to lend them a hand, you settle your heart and consider the task.
>Part of you is thrilled of the prospect of facing a manticore, both for the challenge and the experience of meeting one of this world’s magical creatures.
>The danger that accompanies such a thing should be clear but remembering the events of the pilot episode you can’t help thinking that the cowardly bison sacrificed their wares for nothing and should have instead stood up against the beast.
>You nod, brave and certain.
“I’ll handle it.”
>Twilight and Shining Armor voice their concern to running across such a dangerous beast, but you tell them that it is misplaced and you wave it off as you ask the princess when she might be offering some healing.
>Her frown makes it clear that it is still too early for it.
>”They’ll sure be thankful for it. Might be some reward if they get to bring the goods to their boss, but that depends on whether there’s anything left.”
>You hope that there will be, even though you’ve had almost no use for money since you arrived.
“Do you have any other business to attend to?”
>Golden goes over a mental checklist as he turns to his wife, who answers the question by shaking her head.
>”We are ready. You?”
>One look at Twilight, her scarf waving, and you know that you needn’t ask.
>Two weeks by hoof, four days by wing.

…

>He approaches his lord with some trepidation.
>Fear does not keep him from calling out, but rather a sense of respect for the other’s need of space and silence.
>It is in these moments when he sits alone, head filled with reflections and unknown meditations, that he should be able to enjoy only the company of his own thoughts, knowing that there will be nothing to interrupt him.
>Silver is an inspiration, a paragon of gryphon values and what it is to strive for greatness, to endure adversity and stand strong, no matter the foe, be it strange or familiar, outsider or clan.
>They had all forsaken their homes and families, some of them had even been forced to turn up arms against their own blood and sever ties in ways that went beyond the metaphorical, but it had been their lord who had sacrificed the most for a people that had abandoned him, and a kingdom that had betrayed him.
>The memory of The Night of Hidden Talons is still fresh in every gryphon’s mind, still bleeding, getting infected, and turning everything it touches into black, worm-filled, decay.
>Five months and there was no overcoming the losses, no numbing the scars that itched when one was at the edge of sleep.
>He stepped cautiously out of the shadows and found the lord comfortably on a rock that overlooks the quiet valley the preludes the mountains that stand like a crown of stone and snow.
>A careful eye can spot the final passes of the gliding evening birds over dark canopies and see the unmarked ways of silent ravines.
>They’ll travel them soon.
>”Who are you?”
>The Lord’s senses are acute, shaped over a lifetime of training; there was never any hope of avoiding his attention, only an innocent wish for him to ignore the intrusion.
>”Girian, my lord.”
>Silver unfolds a wing, inviting his comrade to join him on the rock.
>He goes without a second thought and together they see the first lights of the day shine upon the eastern side of the white peaks as it colors them gold.
>The lord remains silent, he does not address his fellow gryphon nor do his eyes lose their glazed introspection.
>He remains as he was, distant and in touch with his memories.
>His warrior asks, beaten by his temptation.
>”Was it true what you claimed at the tower? Of hurting the alicorn and killing the hunter?”
>Silver answers with barely any consideration, his thoughts shaping words before he can consider them.
>”I wanted a trial by combat and his throat open to the skies. For that thing to scream our brother’s name as it died by my claws. But he was with royalty, a newly crowned princess, and I have no desire to go to war with Equestria. If fortune is kind I will not see the hunter again. We all know I will not stand for the death of any of you.”
>”While we were beating him, while I held him inside, I just couldn’t stop thinking it. It would have taken a second and he would be dead. Gone like Firewing. I wanted to do it, needed to.”
>”The urge is natural, as is our grief. But it is I who was at fault. I harmed the pony quite deeply. I should have done that.”
>”Will we fight them again once our mission here is done?”
>”I hope not.”
>The warrior understands and does not ask for more, his real worries close to his heart and difficult to reach.
>If he realizes his unease, Silver does not comment on it, and the two are quiet for long minutes.
>The morning songs of nature test the resolve of their silent comfort and the warrior is the first to break it with another question.
>”Is it really wise to change course for a weapon mentioned in the diary? Should we not rush to those Vaults?”
>Silver exhales and inhales, two drawn out actions that he does with shallow awareness as he remembers the prison and the riot.
>The taste of blood saturates his senses as he questions what would have been of this quest had he been successful the first time he had tried to cross Equestria.
>It had all been prepared against him.
>Correspondences and murders, lies and daggers scattered around his beloved city.
>Curiously, he gets the urge to reach out to Princess Celestia and confess to her not only what he had done but everything that he was certain she was unaware of, but reason returns and he knows she would never approve.
>Not after what he did to the purple princess.
>Another dungeon would become his home if he flapped his wings within the equestrian capital.
>He then registers that his brother-in-arms had spoken and his head is slow to process exactly what he had enquired.
>”The warden of the Spire showed me a vision, of what was written and of what lies out of our sight. What we are looking for is not a weapon, but a protector. It will aid us. Serve us. We are on the right path.”
>Silver had shared the wisdom of the diary with his followers not only during their many days traveling together, but during their imprisonment, for he had somehow retained everything that it held in unnatural detail.
>Even after the diary was taken from him, after he had stained himself with the horrors of those halls, the words would not leave, seared into his soul as they were.
>During their nights of hunger and hopelessness beneath the king’s castle he had recited the life of ancestral Blaze as if he were reading it from the dank walls of his cell under the warm, lambent light of a candle.
>He would speak of how the old gryphon’s talons trembled when they wrote of his pain and that of his companion; how he has shared thoughts private and emotional to everyone who might stumble upon the old piece.
>Twice he had mentioned how he could tell that fabled Lumen had been by the writer’s side just by the change of narration of some fortuitous events, how she played with his fur with the tip of her hoof, how her scent hypnotized him.
>Some questioned his sanity, venturing to guess that diary was cursed and had placed its malediction upon the lord, but still they all clang to his voice during those trying nights that still hang so close.
>None doubted him when his sword shone with unknown magic, when he spread his wings and released them from the abyss, nor did they refuse him when he ordered them to scavenge the decayed Castle of the Two Sisters in search of maps or directions to the mythical Spire that would lead them to glory.
>The warrior peers into his face, looking for the thoughts that expression unconsciously hints at, finding instead the brewing distress of their flight as it echoes inside him from some earlier, half-remembered conversations.
>It has been in every gryphon’s mind.
>A long journey, ripe with strange sights and stranger creatures, and all along it the Nightmare that lingers to their lord’s feathers like ink, dripping madness in its wake.
>None have spoken about it, none dare to.
>The warrior asks a third question.
>”Where are you, right now?”

…

>”Places.”
>The two of them step back, returning to their initial formation, mock blades full of splinters and cracks tightly in their grasp.
>Both gryphons have been subjected to the fury of the other, forced to withstand the heat of the day and the hard strikes of each other, and when the high lord spoke they knew that their fight wasn’t over yet.
>A cut on Silver’s forehead has left him temporarily blind on his right eye due to the profuse yet harmless bleeding.
>He knows that it is nothing he can’t put up with, and it adds to the thrill of the battle.
>His challenger, a stalwart gryphon of a golden coat and light blue feathers is in worse condition, with shallow cuts and light bruises all over his body, barely standing as exhaustion presses around his muscles.
>This fights allowed both of them a chance to improve, one in his road to perfecting the art, the other to learn of endurance and overcome his weaknesses.
>They know who they are and what is expected of them, and yet it is only Silver who gets the sour feeling that he had underestimated the consequences of his performance.
>It had been a mistake to allow his opponent to reach out and land a strike on his head, even if it hurt his pride more than his flesh, not because it put him at a slight disadvantage in terms of visibility, which was in turn his own way of pushing his abilities forwards, but rather for it would be seen as a disappointment to the High Lord who oversees the training session.
>He could already hear him at the table, with that condescension so typical of a master and the insight of one who watches the battle unfold from the placid height of an alcove.
>They would speak barely a meter away from each other and it would still be as if he stared at him from up high.
>Silver knows that the high lord will ultimately be right in his judgment, and it makes the prospect of listening to him all the less appealing.
>The other, an esteemed member of the guard who had been spotted as apt for a promotion and thus given some personal training by the generous high lord, had been commanded to not only do his very best to defeat who he knew was not only a lord of gryphons but a friend with whom he’d shared many drinks.
>So far his attempts had been admirable in their unsuccessfulness, and he had managed to almost land a decisive blow to Silver’s head when the opportunity presented itself, even if such a chance had been gifted rather than earned.
>It was always a delight to see that two warriors could stand on the training grounds and fight with all their might, lashing out not with anger but with discipline, and aware that their actions would strengthen their wills rather than fester grudges.
>Members of the gryphon royalty had been setting aside such practices for quite a long time now, but Silver’s family had always remained close to it and their bonds with the guard were said to run deep.
>They prepare in their spots, ready for another dash and another meeting of their blades at the center of the field, both wondering if their weapons will be able to withstand it, yet the seconds tick by with no order from their overseer to continue and they grow anxious, fluttering their wings and tensing their muscles in anticipation.
>Their hearts are at their throats, fur itching for some release from this expectancy.
>It tires them, more than some of the exchanges that they have had, and time crawls as they wait.
>When it comes, it is not as they had been expecting.
>”The duel is over. Throw your sword, lord.”
>His title is spewed out, as if spit on his face.
>The young guard looks up to the high lord in confusion and no small amount of disbelief, certain that if they were forced to collide again he would be bested.
>There has to be something more to it, or so he wants to believe, but a glance at his opponent is enough to put it all to rest.
>Silver stands there, dumbstruck, his talons clamped around the hilt and his limbs trembling.
>The command had come and he does not seem to have accepted it.
>His posture is still that of one who is about to attack, forward and hunched, training alone keeps him from moving.
>If he were to lash out after the call had been made for the battle to end, it would be an unacceptable display of lack of restraint, yet it would probably land the gryphon who was to be the recipient of it in the hospital.
>The high lord would not stand for it, surely, but Silver would cut the distance and commit the act long before he could stop him.
>The gryphon knows however, that he is not the target of the belted ire.
>Then when he sees the other’s weapon land on the ground and the lord prostrating himself in acknowledgement of his defeat, he finally allows himself to fall and rest, discarding the practice weapon, letting the grass soak up his blood and cushion his weariness.
>His ears pick up the voice of the High Lord, up and to the left, and its dissatisfaction does not escape him.
>”Have Gabriel pick up the equipment when he is ready. You and I shall talk.”
>Their eyes meet, the lord and the challenger’s, and they tell that tonight they will drink and will talk of this.
>The high lord glides down the alcove and makes his leave.
>Silver follows.
>Together they turn away from the last training ground to still be used as such inside the capital, passing through stone archways from where long ago banners had flowed and shown the distinction of a unified clan, now naked and cracking.
>A suitable representation of gryphon politics, abandoned, devoid of fresh blood, of energy.
>Or so some would claim.
>The high lord is one of them, but his heart is honor bound to the master that sits on the throne and he does not find it acceptable to speak ill of his home, even if he is known to have done so in occasions when wine and family had been the only ones present.
>His son, whose birth had been significant for the platinum shine of his feathers and the death of his mother, broods close to him.
>Both hate the way in which whenever the King called for all nobles to gather, the corridors got crammed and the dining halls were packed so full that one could not use a fork without touching their neighbors at the table.
>It took away their freedom to hold a private conversation anywhere but inside their family quarters, and it makes them long for a trip to their state where the lush green and gentle slopes tell no secrets.
>They pass by an old painting, of a dark gryphon with a crown upon his head and lifting the Idol of Boreas above a gathering of his brothers.
>The bringer of peace and unity, first true king of his race.
>Such a shame that there is so little acknowledgement for the one who shares the colors of King Grover’s closest friend, of the one who had been primordial in the unification of the clans, fabled gryphon that had stood by his side every step of the way and had been the one to give the Idol to Grover.
>Perhaps, once the current king is ready to step down, there will be room for Silver to fight for the title.
>With the recent unearthing of one of their lineage’s vaults and the discovery of Blaze’s diary and other legitimate parchments bearing the signature of the dead king, perhaps they could trigger some much needed debate between the now deluded bloodlines and, although the lord still has much to learn before being worthy of such honors, such discussions might do the kingdom great good and allow the family to be something more than another stain on the tapestry of politics.
>His own son, crowned king of all gryphons.
>The thought is poisonous and warm.
>When the High Lord opens the door and allows himself inside his quarters, he speaks in a low, careful tone, and it is to address a third gryphon that has been waiting for them.
>”Good morning, Gena.”
>The name boils Silver’s blood and her reply, chirpy like a sparrow’s voice, incites him in sinuous, hidden ways.
>”Good morning, father! Good morning, brother!”
>Lifting a wing in her direction is the only gesture of greeting that he allows her today, but his eyes linger on her form.
>”Be a dear and make something for us, will you?”
>She nods, eager to please her father, and runs off to quickly cook something for them.
>The High Lord sits and Silver finds his place on the opposite end of the table, knowing that his sister will soon find herself unpleasantly close to him.
>”I’m expecting you to already know why I cut the duel before you could finish him.”
>”Because I allowed him to land a hit on me, one that could have killed me if we had been using real swords.”
>The venom on those words burns his own ears more than those of his father, and Silver does not lift his head from the black and gold checkered table cloth, focusing on one of the many white coat of arms that decorate the black squares.
>When he doesn’t get a response, he takes a peek at him, and sees his disappointment.
>”You could have dodged that. Stopped the blow by striking at his beak with your wing. Deflected the blade with your own. Instead you watched it come, followed it with your eyes as if hypnotized, and barely flinched when it hit. You wanted it to land.”
>There it was.
>The sentence of the one to whom no detail escaped, who’s glaring green eyes judged him as if he were a blade in need of tempering.
>From the height of his perch he caught it all, the harsh, weathered crow.
>”Was I to beat him senseless before giving him a chance to fight back? He deserved something for his efforts.”
>”Is that what you think you gave him? A boon? A trophy?”
>”Whoever trained him had done a poor job of it. The technique is lame, his swings are weak. You sent him to the slaughter, had I-.”
>”Had you taken him seriously, you would have pushed him to greatness rather than gift him the mediocrity of your judgement. What you did was nothing other than get a taste of pain. You sought it out, you wanted to feel like the fight was something more, the challenge greater, to test yourself, and in doing so you lied to your opponent, gave him the false hope that there was more to his skills than he initially believed.
>”I put you in that place to help him improve, to test your ability to teach and his to grow. Instead you disappointed all of us. A master would have showed him the mistakes in his attacks, punished his students’ failures, and in so shape him in the right path. You insulted him, and me. I don’t want you to try and justify it.”
>His composure does not falter, although his voice does take on a slight edge towards the end.
>Silver challenges his demeanor with calmness, refusing to allow his father to step over him after he had stood above the fighters instead of among them.
>He would preach but never act.
>He had not taken up his sword in seven years and still acted as if he carried it at every moment.
>”What do you want from me?”
>”To tell him the truth tonight and face him again in a week. To finally show me that you have the strength to lead.”
>”A leader stands by his warriors. A leader fights with them and shows them that he bleeds like them. He doesn’t stand on his self-entitling throne and watches them spar.”
>”A leader is one and all. He is warrior and teacher and father and throne. His place changes, perception shifts, and he chooses that which will benefit his subjects the most. You want to be the banner, the rallying cry, the vanguard and the commander. You are not a leader, boy.”
>The whistling of a kettle comes from the kitchen as the water waits to be poured into the porcelain cups.
>Gena’s pitter-patter preludes the whistle’s decline.
>Silver wishes he was strong enough to fling the table away and face his father in combat, to let swords put words to the test.
>The high lord holds his piercing gaze, as if he was holding a pet tightly from its leash while it awaits its submission, and gets the final word.
>”Your pointless anger will not accomplish anything here. Don’t waste your energy and move on, we have other things to discuss.”
>”Such as?”
>”The future of this kingdom.”
>Gena arrives and places an antique porcelain tray with delicate care.
>Four cups, ivory white with golden rims and masterfully decorated with drawn red roses and their healthy stems, stand upon saucers that share the same design.
>They were old, a set of tableware that they would bring with them whenever they traveled to this temporary residence that they are forced to occupy whenever venturing to the royal castle.
>Each of the pieces held inside it the still steaming waters and the strings of tea bags hand from their edges like weightless pendulums.
>Three for every gathered family member, one for remembered.
>Respectfully the younger ones wait solemnly for the high lord’s ritual of commemoration as he tears of a single golden feather and places it within the fourth cup, letting the liquid touch and rise through its shaft, dyeing it a bright blue.
>There was something to the act, a supernatural suggestion in the air, a prick at the base of Silver’s neck, a swelling of his throat.
>Gena places a hand on his thigh and the feeling disappears, replaced by another, more insidious one.
>It isn’t until the entire vane has taken on the impossible color that the high lord rises his own cup and takes the first sip, signaling that the rest are free to do so from this moment onward.
>Silver considers it, looking intensely at the palely tanned liquid.
>The beverage always calmed him in an unexplainable manner and he doubts if it is what he truly needs.
>Gena wings him and he does what he knows she wants of him.
>”How was the meeting with the Redhelms?”
>An old name, one of the four original clans that unified under Grover.
>Long ago they had turned to vanity, may have very well been the first family to succumb to the loss of the Idol, and their greed had reduced them to a house of territorial, shut-in, frivolous beings.
>Rumor goes as far as to speak of members that have never stepped outside the grounds of their own states, and no one really question the veracity of the claim.
>They are masters of the coin and a clawful of respectable members of the family are usually asked to watch over the treasury, provided they get a monthly contribution from the crown, of course.
>Whatever business Gena might have had with these particular gryphons does not interest Silver but he listens for he knows it is of relevance.
>”It took quite a bit of convincing to hold audience with the head of their house, and even that was a brief affair given how shaken I left him. I cannot fathom living along such weak, greedy vultures.”
>She takes a sip, moistures the tip of her beak and tongue, and continues.
>”He questioned my claims, fervently. Not the most trusting of individuals as you must already be aware and not at all accommodating to my visit, something which I was sure to clear up with him. Thankfully, he was smart enough to recognize who I was and the reputation that preceded me, which prompted him to offer wine and such. A minute later he was already telling me that he had already caught wind of that particularly well placed rumor that I have set loose upon the wind.”
>”It is a dangerous bargain.”
>”A calculated one. We must let word spread, let it roll through their rank, rile the right ones up. Granted, it isn’t the whole truth. Just enough to bring them into play.”
>”Does High Lord Thade know what we have in store?”
>”Yes, and I am certain he won’t even let it reach the ears of his children. Mustn’t want them to get the idea that they can approach us with any kind of proposition, though I doubt they would.”
>The high lord nods and lets the tea sooth him while Silver guesses at the true nature of the meeting.
>He knows of the discovery of Lady Galina’s crypt, which has been attributed to a recent earthquake that shook the south-western coast, touched upon the mistress’s old state, and revealed it to the unsuspecting inhabitants of the place.
>It so happens that the lady in question had not only been sister to Grover, but also the progenitor of a new family, which had broken off the King’s bloodline for reasons never acquiesced by scholars, thousands of years ago.
>Still, she was a prominent historical figure and her line, a house which took the name of Highrise, has withstood the weight of the ages, and holds domain over any secrets that she might have kept.
>”Is this about the excavation? About what we found?”
>The question is directed to the high lord, but it is Gena who replies.
>”Documents. Letters. Confessions. You’ll be pleased with some of the things that were just lying there and now belong to us.”
>Silver tilts his head, wanting his sister to indulge him with the knowledge.
>The high lord drags his words, his voice suddenly deeper, more boisterous.
>”Blaze’s sword, his diary, and most importantly, information regarding him and his relationship with King Grover.
>”This is an extremely sensitive matter, one that reaches the highest orders of the aristocracy. As you already know, we heads of all houses are gathered here under the request of the king. The purpose of it is the divulgement of all findings in fairness to the guidelines of the Treaties on the Honors of Gryphon History and Heritage. And what we will show, the things that will transcend in that hall room, will shake this decaying castle to the core.”
>The young lord holds his breath as the elder’s voice settles and the household goes deathly quiet.
>Gena has left behind her lively personality, replaced it by a sharp, serpent-like presence.
>He had seen her that way countless of times, that dangerously manipulative nature with which she strutted the halls in search of the secrets that only she could extract with a single drop of blood, a desire to indulge in pleasures of the flesh and the dominance of the tongue.
>Her claws were starting to dig into Silver’s flesh and hardly caused him any pain.
>She turned to him with predatory eyes of the gryphoness the nobles called the Siren of Highrise, and he was reminded of all the nights he had satiated that ravenous hunger of hers.
>He called out to the high lord, with a heart full of vertigo, fearful of what his answer might be.
>”What in Tartarus is going on?”
>”King Grover yielded the throne to Blaze. The kingdom is ours.”

…

>”On quiet moments like this it all comes back, doesn’t’ it?”
>Girian does not provide comment and his hollowed expression begs for an end to the conversation, for he will break down if he were forced to vividly recall those dreaded days.
>Realizing that his brooding has begun to stain the morning and the spirits of his company, Silver stands and motions for him to follow and rejoin the rest of the flight.
>They still have much ground to cover before reaching their next destination and he wishes to keep a steady pace and an ordered routine is what he tells him, something to which he does not retort.
>The road should keep all their minds busy and safe from the nightmares that stalk them for a moment of weakness.
>The two find the others already occupied with stretching and friendly banter, a welcomed sign of their mental and physical health that helps put a smile on the lord, alleviating his concerns.
>He stops at the edge of the clearing where they gather and takes Girian by the leg.
>The warrior freezes, startled by the sudden touch, and their eyes meet for the first time that day.
>”I’m here. I’ll be brave for you, and be strong for you. Lean on me, brother, and I’ll carry you if you need me to.”
>Girian struggles with a knot in his throat and whimpers.
>”She would have been happy to have you as king.”
>He extends his claw for him to shake and he does so, vigorously, his essence shared in that grip, and Silver finds the reply to hold meaning for both of them.
>One of the others spots them, calls out in energetic greeting, and is soon followed by the rest.
>Silver rises a wing in acknowledgement to them and joins in the morning activities after patting Girian in the back, settling his tangled soul.
>They do not speak of how Girian’s mother had taken sword and crested shield to protect herself, nor how she had been struck down and found dead by the night’s end.
>They certainly don’t mention Gena.
>None of them want to touch on their individual tragedies, least the words pour out and their bravery with them.
>So they keep busy, focused on some specific task or another.
>Every day is fundamentally the same, following the same rules, doing whatever they can to outrun the sorrow and guilt.
>For those brought up under the wing of Highrise, workouts have always been part of the life and now they are a fundamental one, even more so than before.
>A system of friendly sparring, exercise, and strict sleeping schedules has kept them all fit to travel and has replaced the rush and tension of outrunning a blade at their throats ever since they crossed into the West and left behind any serious threat of bloodthirsty pursue.
>Resources haven’t been difficult to come by along the way in a land so wild and bountiful –which they have been very thankful for- but they have been careful to consume nothing more than is necessary, something that is noticeable in their light breakfasts and, in some cases, in the protruding mounds that their ribs draw on the chests of those who are neglect them.
>They take to the skies and travel from dawn to a little past midday, when they replace the clear blue for the shade of the forest trees, aware that the sun does them no favors and their bodies are not to be subject to fatigue.
>Wild animals tend to stay clear, understandably avoiding prey more numerous than themselves, and the gryphons happen to see a couple of predators watching them from the safety of far trees or the shelter of the canopies almost every day.
>It doesn’t do more than keep the group alert, knowing not to grow complacent and overconfident since they are fugitives still, and the shadows might hide something more than wild critters or beasts, regardless of how outlandish it would be to find the king’s hunters in these unmarked trails.
>Upon the first signs of sundown, they turn to flight again and travel as far as the dying light might allow them to before the danger of unknown and unseen creepers of the night forces them to make camp.
>The gryphons have always had sharp senses and when coupled with their training it allows them to sleep rather easily, knowing that if anything is to prowl close to them, they will all quickly be at the ready, even when in uncharted grounds.
>When evening falls, they rest, and Silver emboldens their wills and dreams with the words of dead Blaze and the epic retelling of his life.
>And although it sometimes brings back the claustrophobia and dread of their damp cells, they all find warmth in the presence of the generous campfire and their charismatic leader.
>Their doubts are always snuffed out with a simple study of his complexion and the thunder in his voice in the stillness of the night.
>At last, laying at the edge of sleep, they send a prayer to their ancestors, asking them to protect their lord and begging for the peaceful rest of the fallen.
>Silver, like all the rest, fights against the memories, but he faces them with the freedom that his position provides, in that peculiar way in which he copes.
>While daylight blinds his brothers to the light that wrestles in his eyes, he requires only a small effort to keep his sentiments at bay, to snatch them from their sight, but as the glow dims and his warriors take to slumber, albeit fitfully, he indulges his soul with some release.
>He glides into the darkness, where in his loneliness he can remember and unleash measured bursts of his pooling rage.
>The brutal turn of events in his life has left him poisoned and prompted an inner search for means in which to control and let loose of that fire, that pent-up rage that fuels him, and necessity has taught him how to open the wounds, let them breathe in the cool air, stinging and pouring the tainted blood out of him and into the virgin soil.
>It has allowed him to remain strong in view of those he leads, to be an unbreakable symbol of courage in every step, most prominently when doubt pressures their hearts, and although they know he grieves like any other mortal gryphon, they are certain in their belief that he is their aegis, their guardian.
>Yet in truth he is fragile, and his anguish breaks him.
>He had thought that no harm would come to them now that they had left the chains of kingdoms; that no evil would reach those he had vowed to protect.
>And not a month into these western wilds they had lost Firewing at the hands of an Equestrian.
>They all knew him as the eager torch bearer, bright and full of zealous fervor.
>He was the first to open his wings in Silver’s name, and he has become a reminder of their lives’ frailty.
>They who have been carrying the banner of change, of a brighter future for every righteous gryphon under the shadow of a king who would mirror the great equestrian princesses.
>A dream of a true God King to guard them all in harmonious protection.
>Now, in the depths of the midnight forests it crawls, a soft touch and a pool of blood, a name most dear to the lord that stabs at him mercilessly.
>He thinks of his Gena, of feelings and sensations, and the hatred, the inescapable rage that lurks so close to his heart, rises and clouds his vision with images of the power that will make everything right again, of the mare who hid the light that can change his world, and of that spirit whose name Geist had whispered and whom he would turn into the keeper of his race.
>Storming thoughts flood him and he lets loose, each image followed by a physical manifestation of his rage.
>Gena’s blood is answered with a swipe against a tree that showers splinters of wood and broken talons; the King murky eyes bring a punch that cracks the bark like thunder and leaves him shaking and blooded; then the sound of the hunter’s parting gesture comes to him as the screech of a gargoyle from the deep chasms of the northern mountains, grimly stating that Firewing is dead, and a strike to a boulder.
>Again and again his pain becomes engraved in the trees and stones, all the while splashing the grass with colors that are invisible in the dark.
>He can sense something there with him, lingering so close to that it might just smoke its way into his head, and he distinguishes it as the violent edge of caged savagery that needs to be overcome and overthrown, least it ends up consuming him.
>This are the moments when reason reaches him with a tender, quiet wing, offering peace, and when the face of the High Lord appears (”Take responsibility. Cease your claim. Bow to your King.”), and he knows he can’t have any reconciliation.
>Just a little further, he convinces himself.
>Let the hatred pool and push for a while longer.
>Through this West and to the Vaults, past Equestria, and back before that traitorous king.
>Home to bring justice to the guilty.
>And so is it that his days go.
>Plagued with remembrance.

…

>Gena directed him inside.
>At such hours, the castle’s staff and the lords that currently inhabit it would not disturb their moment, and if any more precaution was needed, the bedroom door, heavy wood with screeching hinges, had been meticulously locked.
>She had always guided him down sinuous and unknown paths, filled with emotions and pleasures that would otherwise be unacceptable amongst the most refined circles.
>The hours of twilight and the high skies had been, since their days of youth, safe havens for them to indulge in each other’s company, and in what they claimed to be –with such strong certainty that it left no room for banal gossip- just brotherly affection.
>Yet in obliviousness of everyone but the two of them, it was a fact that whenever he held her eyes that she would not be denied the taste of love, not by gryphon nor any other race of the lands, and they knew far too well how he faired when she wielded view and voice against him.
>So he had grown to understand that there is no point in fighting her cravings -and he isn’t foolish enough to deny his own- but that evening there was something just as strong as her hold on him and it caused his attention to shot away from the beautiful Gena, and instead find itself drawn to words written in lands and ages so distant that many would not be able to imagine.
>The motions however, familiar and practiced to perfection, were carried out despite his wayward thoughts.
>There were still signs of his body’s enjoyment of it -the engorging of his loins, the burning of his heart- but he did not want to be taken, not tonight, as he thought of a tower, a kingdom, and a mare of white.
>If the tale and life of vanished Blaze is true, and he has no reason to believe otherwise, then it was one so much more worthy than a meager forgotten legend.
>A fable to light the fires of the gryphon race; a life befitting piety.
>Gena stopped the careful ministrations that her body provided him to test whether his mind was on the deed or had otherwise sailed away, and the answer did not please her.
>She found no pleasure in accepting that the moment had passed and she did not continue to pursue the impossible.
>”What is it?”
>She gave him some room, stepping down from his hips and chest, moving to sit by his side.
>The change in her was enough to bring him back from the timeless meaning of the journal.
>He sighed, stretching his back and wings before sitting upright in the bed.
>”I’ve been reading it.”
>Gena run a wing through the back of his neck.
>”Talk to me, I understand that the words of heroes can be overwhelming.”
>He turned to her and first caught sight of their mother’s immaculate scarf that Gena insisted on wearing everywhere, and then he saw her figure, glistening on the bed.
>She shared the color of his feathers and they looked ethereal in the moonlight.
>Too often had he wondered if they were part of the same soul, cut in half by an unknown power during birth.
>He looked at his claws and felt that they were undeserving of her.
>Then he thought of Blaze and found himself unworthy.
>”There is an entire kingdom, hidden somewhere beyond the western borders of Equestria. A land belonging not to one race, but to all. Of mountains that sing the melodies of sleeping dragons, towers of magic that are more alive than any one of us, and inns where the drink speaks the legend of a mare and her companion.
>”He was born of gryphons, a slave who wore the same name as his father and his father before him, but whose heart was ferocious and free, never to be bound to this land.
>”Together with a band of others he killed the head of the Blackfeathers, flew across the seas, and crashed upon the cliffs of the land of ponies. Of the fifteen that escaped, only he survived the journey, only he become somegryphon else.”
>Gena knew his brother wasn’t one to speak needlessly and that he wished for the release that his recounting would bring, so she waited in silence, listening to what he had to say.
>And Silver continued.
>”There he met a dancer, a unicorn mare. She was seeking a different life, a different place to continue her life, and their longing for a new home brought them across the edges of the know lands.
>”It shouldn’t be anything special compared to the stories of immigrants and explorers. It could have been just two strangers making a home in a small distant state, farming for sustenance and trade. And yet it’s so much more.
>”She made a tower out of nothing, turned the tragedy of miscarriage into hope, and brought back the dead. They braved the deserts and she made gold out of sand. He survived the traps of magic, killed a dragon, and returned here to help unify a kingdom.
>”Goodness Gena, what have any one of us done with our lives? Grover himself gifted him the mantle of king because he felt him to be the only one worthy of leadership. How can we even claim it as our own when we aren’t even entitled to his shadow?”
>She became grim and touched him no more.
>”You are blabbering. Self-doubt is eating away at you.”
>He nodded and waited.
>”We don’t deserve a king of Highrise blood.”
>She pounced and pressed him down onto the mattress.
>He was clear headed and could feel the scent of alcohol on her, well aware that his mouth shared it.
>For the time he wished their relationship weren’t so close nor her body so tight.
>He didn’t look her in the eye.
>”You tell me that The Goldmanes are more fit to rule? The Redhelms more virtuous? The Windcrests more-
>”We are the only who haven’t succumbed to greed! We don’t glutton, we don’t hoard, we don’t lust! We don’t bring shame to our name.”
>”Is this for the sake of our kingdom, or because we crave power and respect?”
>”We can’t ignore the decadence of our rulers any longer.
>”Equestria has recovered their Princess of the Moon, the Crystal Empire has risen from the snow, they have added a Princess of Love and one of Friendship to their ranks.
>”What do we have but mediocre leaders and dying values?
>”Not all of us can be heroes, not all of us can carry banners and rally the free to march by our side. Magic doesn’t lift us to glory and the heavens don’t part by will of our horns or wings. I am a simple diplomat, you are a growing warrior, father is an aging commander. We do what we can for the betterment of everyone, and right now claiming our legacy is the only thing we can do.
>”But you need to stop comparing yourself to the best of us. You’ll always finding yourself lacking, always trying to reach his glory and never finding your peace. It is a disservice to your own accomplishments and a sad thing for me to watch.”
>She took his beak and brought it close to hers.
>He did not resist her and allowed the depths of her eyes to suck him in, away from all his worries.
>Briefly he wondered whether Blaze had felt the same way when gazing at his Lumen.
>”Father and I will meet with the other heads at the presentation. You should join us.”
>The political circus did not interest him, especially when it meant having to share the room with those he considered disgraced, desirous members of the old houses.
>But Gena was not asking for his company, she was demanding it.
>He spread his wings and they shone majestic.
>”I need to fly away from here.”
>”To our little perch in the clouds?”
>”The one you’ve been sharing with that guard?”
>She looked offended for a moment, grabbing hold of her scarf like a ward.
>”Dear brother, are you growing territorial on me? You had never objected to me chasing a relationship with him. Even if he has endured my charms.”
>”I don’t, it’s just that-“
>She took advantage of how defenseless he looked and kissed him.
>He tasted her long and happy.
>”I wish to visit the West once this is all over. Do you think you’ll join me?”
>Gena laughed and fluttered to a nearby open window.
>There was but the faintest of breezes and she let it caress her chest.
>”By then you’ll be a prince. I believe such a trip would be considered a diplomatic visit.”
>”Then you promise to be my advisor, one who won’t bound to me only by the day.”
>She flickered her tail and jumped out the window and into the skies.
>His gaze flew from where his sister once stood and to the ornate night-table, where the diary was hidden.
>He had not divulged to her that he had been reading the whole thing twice a day, or that when the night was quiet and lonely he would find his way to a cool roof on which to read under the sheen of the moon and stars.
>Nor had he made mention of those Vaults, the final resting place of Lumen and the secret to her power.
>He thought little of it all as he followed behind his sister and the deep blue horizon invited his soul to carnal desires.

…

>If only he had followed his words earlier.
>The mind is cruel when it lingers on the wasted possibilities and on all the lives that could have been saved.
>If he had walked away that night, wrote a simple letter asking his family to await his return before goin public with their discoveries, took a trip through the world as a member of the gryphon royal houses instead of as a fugitive and arrived at the Vaults before a month’s end.
>Not only would he have returned enlightened by the touch of Lumen, not only would he have been able to repel all those who sought to harm the innocent in the name of politics and faulted monarchs, not only would he have spared his brothers in arms from the torture and desolation of prison.
>But he could have also saved her.
>If only he hadn’t stopped flying by the accursed appeal of sex and Gena’s bewitching femininity.
>But he didn’t, he wouldn’t.
>Now his world needs a light to burn away the tears and the pain, one that could make it all new again and bring back all that was wrongfully taken.
>He had written of it all in almost prophetic prose.
>It was with dangerous certainty that one could make the claim that Blaze knew his life would one day be revisited by a fortuitous stranger, and Silver, grief stricken and with no purpose left to live by, hang on to this premise.
>He convinced himself that he had to be destined to read the words, to remember them, and as he waited for the blood on his knuckles to dry he thought hard on them, and summoned the will to see as Blaze had seen a millennia ago.

…

>They cry her name like they would in mad chanting to deaf gods.
>I can hear it in the streets when we stroll, and in the houses when they think their walls are enough to keep their voices private and out of reach.
>I can see it in their eyes when they gape at her and ignore my wing around her, and when they bow and kiss her hooves without any mind to how uncomfortable it makes her feel.
>None of them mean any harm, which we know.
>They are just blind with amazement and devotion at the sight of her wondrous magic, and can’t help themselves.
>I share such feelings with them, but mine come a place of physical and emotional attachment.
>Life has taken a slow and settled rhythm, and every day it seems we get more wanderers, strays, and nomads.
>Faces that I can already tell will be here till the end of their lives, others that land in this shores in just another stop during their travels.
>And as the days pass I find that my fear of hunters is taking on a much firmer grip on my gut, one that is strengthened by the inescapable fact that the bond between us is evolving, sprouting vines.
>Each kiss, each display of craving is mirrored by sparks of equal potency that will inevitably set fire to my soul.
>I know this to be true and still I am powerless to stop it.
>At times of introspection I have considered that living my whole life surrounded by those of my own kind has left me more susceptible to the beauty of the other races, but that would be making light of her intrinsic beauty.
>She does not have the roughness of the gryphonesses and carries herself with a sophistication that only a sheltered, educated lifestyle can teach.
>A lifestyle that has left her so eager to experience the pleasures of mating that a companion can bring.
>Today she makes me look at the beauty that had been laid bare below me in the hay, again for me to drink, as she stands at the edge of the docks, with a crowd waiting for her to begin.
>We’ve been here for two months and been privy to the plans of development.
>Ships will be made to barter with Equestria, soldiers will be made to clear and patrol the surrounding areas.
>Lumen has her own plans, of course, and I am the only one to whom she confides them.
>She longs for the home of her dreams, a school of magic for the young.
>Rivaling Starswirl’s is not in her interest, or so she says, and there is nothing be gained from prodding at that particular subject.
>What she speaks of are her ideas, of which there are plentiful, all with a distinct flavor of fantasy and the concept of doors that lead to the extraordinary and the unimaginable.
>We waited for clear skies and waited for a sign in the way the grass bent and the moonlight shone on the faces of the cliffs.
>She woke me early today, teary and happy and radiant, and said that the time was right.
>I am at the head of the crowd, I would not have the others stand between us.
>A steady surge of power is rising about us, it tickles the tips of my feathers.
>I look behind me, see a mare beaming, and am cruelly reminded of darker days.
>In the distance the whales and serpents move restlessly under the waves.
>She notices my stare and mouths things to me that I do not care for.
>I turn away and focus on Lumen.
>Easy on my eyes, not so much on my heart.
>The others are entranced and wait eagerly for her display.
>I rise my head to the sky and see the sun blazing uncaringly hot down on us.
>The very same one that had stained my colors each morning as I worked, and during the high noon when I fought in the pits for the enjoyment of my owners.
>I don’t want to be out here.
>I want to lay under the shade and smell the fragrance of her fur, taste her tongue if she would allow it, rest my head on her back and fall into pleasant dreams.
>But her needs overstep mine, and so I straighten myself.
>Then I feel it.
>The air shifts around us, grows thick and suffocating.
>Those behind me pant and heave without knowing why.
>The waves clash with fury and I think I hear them rage.
>A young deer calls out in a whine.
>”The light! The light!”
>He needn’t claim the obvious as we all see Lumen’s horn shine so bright it beats back the sun above and the Sea Serpents peek their long heads out the water to watch.
>She lifts, little at first, then higher than a minotaur, until she reaches too far up and I can only get to her by flight.
>Around us there is mist, which quickly grows thicker than smoke, and then turns to foam.
>I feel the wind touch the side of my beak and it is so rich with strange energies that it bites at my skin before making its way to her.
>I can see it coming from beneath us, I venture to think that it arises from the depths, from locked chambers under the ground, and materializes from the thin air summoned by celestial winds.
>We can hardly keep ourselves from wheezing, seeking breathe, while her radiance grows into a blinding glare as the mystic answers to her will.
>Out on the open seas, the world seems to distort as something otherworldly begins to take place.
>An incomprehensible change in some primal veil of reality that causes it to start to ripple and shatter, forcing through a piece of thought that should not be able to be crafted.
>I try not to look at her, to see instead what is happening in the distance, and I find an unknown construction of which only a translucent outline can be seen.
>It takes on different shapes, almost like it is uncertain of what it wants to be.
>There I see a castle of lean towers and walled courtyards where golden flowers bloom and their roots, ethereal and holy, write runes that bind together enchantments and incantations; a pyramid molded construction that gives the vain suggestion of a palace where in its bowels lies a sanctum of concealed rituals where one can lock away nightmares and sins; a goblet-like structure that hides the bulk of its body under the surface of the deep and inside which spells open a portals to realms ruled by the emotions and whims of its creator.
>Too much for me to follow, I shield my eyes from Lumen and her design with a wing, and feel her light begin to burn me.
>The others start to back away, now terrified of her supposed divinity.
>The magic gathers around her, becomes part of her, until there is nothing to look at but a sphere of an eldritch liquescence.
>A great rumble comes from it and they all run, screaming like children.
>I do not fear her, and still I tremble.
>I do not leave my post, and still I can feel myself fleeing.
>Moments later her voice is heard all across the town, up the cliffs and far into the crevasses of the serpents.
>I cannot make out the words and think that maybe they weren’t words at all, but she is student of the magical arts and it may very well be a unicorn mantra associated with some spell.
>It soothes us all, and we can take the first lungful since her ritual began.
>Someone shouts from the crowd and I allow myself to peek at the distance.
>”There’s a tower! A tower over yonder”
>And, indeed, there it slowly appears.
>First an island, barren and isolated, then a stake of ivory manifests out of nothing, streams of silver alike the magic Lumen beckoned with her horn start a silent dance around it, engraving elongated, spindly writings across the outer faces of the thing.
>Supports, strangely reminiscent of spider legs extend from its sides and find their place on the island where they rest and hold the structure straight and opulent.
>The streams then crystalize, become flawless gemstones with rings of gold bound to them, and start an endless circling of the structure.
>Sentinels to watch over the world; eyes for the sightless.
>It all remains a blur as if doubt is keeping it from taking a solid hold on existence and as the minutes pass we wait, silent by an unspoken, unanimous agreement that Lumen should be given the peace required to settle her mind and thoughts.
>When the details are right and the design is done, it flashes white, and an invisible wave of something I can only describe as cold, invasive, and disconcerting, hits us.
>These feelings are brief and fleeting, soon replace by the breathless wonder of what now stands omnipotent and enthralling in the middle of the sea.
>The crystals shine red, majestic, and they promise you everything.
>One can hardly keep oneself from flying to the tower and explore its bowels.
>I catch movement above me and see that Lumen’s glow is fading.
>The sphere that holds her starts to melt, dripping like amber from a tree, evaporating into nothing as it falls.
>We watch expectantly, and it isn’t long until I can make out her figure and find her to be looking straight at her creation as her grasp on magic finally ends.
>She says only one thing before fainting -a whisper, nothing more- and I fly to her without any doubt in my heart.
>”I’m pregnant.”

…

>A steady burst of snow falls on them as they leave the protection of the crowns of trees, and gather at the foot of pale, monumental peaks that are hidden behind a curtain of clouds.
>Daybreak has so far given them solace from the cold and they spread their wings to soak in its warmth before they must leave it behind and begin the ascent.
>There is a path in the earth, a trail of wide girth that spread for the expanse of huge leathery wings and that traverses the mountains in shaky, tired paces.
>The air smells of pine and freedom, and they know they won’t catch such scrumptious scents once they venture up into the white.
>It all they can do to fill themselves with it, keeping it safe for when they lose themselves in the road and have to keep themselves sane, for arms and training can’t protect the mind.
>They see the clouds that circle further north, promising the threat of blizzards and whiteouts, of hypothermia and hallucinations.
>Preparations are made in the form of scavenging the area for wood and the use of whatever resources they come across to fashion makeshift protection for those that wear no armor and whom did not have an upbringing amongst the chill and frost that would make them more capable of withstanding the journey.
>Although gryphons are ordinarily a race that dwells on high ground and barren summits, and most find the cold to be quite appeasing, this isn’t universal and the frozen wastes impartially harsh regard for those that think to traverse them does no favors.
>So the party is fair and they follow in the example of their champion, feeling no grief in the shedding of excess fur which they mix together with mud so that it may be stuck to the more fragile ones in an attempt to keep the frostbite from claiming them.
>It is a grueling task and the paste forces them to leave behind the pride of their manes and wings, ruined as they are, and endure being unceremoniously grounded.
>The first stretch is easy, with a blanket of slush and shallow snow, good enough visibility for them to inspect the wilderness ahead and look back at the trees while they are still in their immediate vicinity.
>Sight is reassuring –patches of leafless shrubs, soft protruding rocks, the glint of the sun upon the summits, and the black stone that peeks every so often from the sides of the distant elevations- and are appeasing as they proceed in gentle march.
>Silver requires no map, no previous exploration of the landscape to lead them effectively.
>There is in his senses a dominating pull that points unmistakably to a location deep into the northern belt, to a land where dragons had once escaped into, now left dead and abandoned.
>He would think of this guidance as a melody, a lullaby to the seekers of dreams, instead of the soft whispers of some entity that had invaded his mind during his time trapped inside the damning illusions of that ruin called the Spire.
>It is impossible for him to determine if the warden had actually manipulated him in taking this detour, if it had been responsible for the acute turmoil in his entrails that makes the power of a sleeping guardian so beguiling and so paramount for the protection of all, or if the visions that he had been granted had simply given him more information with which to conclude a fruitful strategic shift.
>A good leader knows that there is no point in questioning his own decisions once the course has been charted and travel has begun, so instead he occupies his mind and that of his brothers with popular marching songs while their gullets are warm enough for them.
>The beat is rough and invigorating, the lyrics picture an idyllic kingdom that they all know will be brought about once their journey is over.
>When the tunes wear off, they chat with one another until that too becomes a futile effort to brighten their spirits.
>Inside they welcome the challenge, the test of will that the land presents to them, and they do not believe that any singing is required to push onwards.
>Such things would rather be left for ponies to lean on -gryphons follow by example, by the toughness that it kindles- but they smile and sing as they allow an opportunity of cheer to alleviate their losses and sadness.
>Momentarily they forget, and Silver’s cognizance escapes to the past as the clouds move towards them in spectral gallop.

…

>The spell was done, the ritual complete, and unlike any previous display of her power, she had been left unconscious and feverish.
>I carried her back to the shack we shared, lay her on the hay with meticulous care, and watched over her with a resoluteness to rival Cerberus’.
>The first days were full of fears and uncertainties.
>They held us all by the throats along each minute that painstakingly passed and she did not recover.
>I did my best to provide her with sustenance in the form of leaves and flowers, powdered and mixed with cool water in what I hoped would be a beverage that would carry enough nutrients.
>I worked her head to help the liquid go easy down her throat.
>I place wet rags on her forehead to fight the fever and changed it regularly.
>I washed her; I held her; I woke by her side every morning.
>There was no improvement.
>For each race within our small community there was a remedy that was claimed to be able to put her back on her hooves, and for each failed attempt there was nothing but tears and an ever-quickening fall into despair.
>She simply would not wake, and to look at her was to stare at a barely alive cub, taken by sickness, hanging from a thread that none could strengthen.
>We expected writhing, moaning, the slightest hints to physical maladies, and were irredeemably left hoping that she would give us something to hang onto.
>The folk cried, asked the skies –if they would lend their ear- for guidance, until every face sported the lines of sorrow and surrender and they asked no more.
>Even then I did not falter.
>I allowed the weak and innocent to bow their heads when I passed them by, I indulged them when they approached me seeking news about Lumen, even if they already knew that there was nothing to say and nothing else to do.
>At times I caught them staring out at the sea, drawn in by the tower of fantasy and the alluring call that it seemed to reach our shores by the currents of wind and water.
>In their gloom I sometimes thought of my old world and was tormented by visions of shattered gryphonesses, of the stench of blood and tainted musk.
>None of these westerners had known the pain of watching their sisters be traded for scraps of food, of their mothers sacrificing body and mind for a master’s promises.
>Not a single soul in this place had seen their own flesh and blood, emaciated and disfigured, shackled and used, with barely any feathers left and not a thread of awareness in their look.
>Because of my attachments, Lumen’s mental departure left me a castaway again, and was stricken with the traumas that I had once managed to outrun.
>She had been a companion with whom to fill the silence and share the desolation, with her I had traveled through lands of harmony and into uncharted wilderness, with her I had discovered the genuine pleasures of mating of my own volition.
>Without her I had been left defenseless against the nightmares.
>The hissing of embers, the cracking of the whip, the terrible and unspeakable sights of slavery.
>Waking up I would find myself shaking, talons dripping unspeakable depravities, and I would wish I’d been conceived a pony.
>I alone was privy to my past and my thoughts, and I did not dare whisper them to the comatose mare, much less share them with strangers.
>Many days went by with me in self-imposed isolation –alone in my struggle against the horrors that would be revived each night, with my contact with others reduced to meaningless exchanges of nods or other shallow gestures.
>The quiet and the inaction only accentuated my condition, to which I quickly realized that the only solution was to put my body to work.
>Thus I turned to what I considered structural matters of the town.
>My first priority was to secure our borders, not from any credited threat but from the possibility of one, and for the safety of any future travelers and caravans.
>It began as a gathering of the able bodied and curious on top of the cliffs that Lumen had carved.
>There our needs were laid bare and I elaborated in no unreasonable terms that we could not rely on our good fortune and wooden shacks forever.
>The land provided, but the land could just as quickly take away, and for there to be a healthy growth outside the shores we needed to play a role as active as that of future builders and architects.
>Monsters of sharp teeth and merciless claws roamed the wilds, and we would not have the death of innocent travelers on our heads, nor would we allow them to claim our territory for their own.
>I asked for warriors to aid me in clearing the land, and was given honest folk with nary a clue as to what fighting for survival was.
>Weapons were even scarcer, and I was regrettably reminded of the one I had to drop to the seas in order to cross them unhindered.
>To solve this I requested the help of any one whom might know the art of crafting and forging, to which only two minotaur brothers of shapely arms and soot stained hands stepped forward.
>They knew of clubs and spears, I taught them of swords and axes, and they learned swiftly as all gifted ones do.
>Training the rest to fight was a more personal and labored task.
>When it came to it, none were disposed to tasting the passion of combat, and giving them the tools to protect themselves wasn’t going to be enough.
>Hard working, thin-skinned villagers was all I could see, and even if there was might in them, it would do no good without proper shaping.
>I found hope in a fellow gryphon, one whose line had left the east ages ago, in whom I found the burning spirit of our kin, and I put him to use.
>Crafting weapons out of stick and stones, I demonstrate the basics, and I was rewarded with how quickly the lessons stuck with him and how accurately he began to mimic my stance.
>He flourished, reveled in the excitement of combat, and others soon followed.
>Understanding our purpose and pushed by their eagerness to play their part for the community, they began to embrace the training.
>Gryphon and minotaurs handled weapons in a similar manner, although their styles were clearly distinct as their features dictate, and I considered them front line combatants, synergetic and steadfast.
>Ponies and zebras shared a specific characteristic as both relied on their jaws for the efficient manipulation of weapons and so I needed to come up with ways for them to be of use.
>In the beginning I considered binding spikes and blades to their hooves and chests in a manner that they could apply by charging or bucking, but such ideas didn’t go far as I realized that they each had their charm.
>In the ponies I saw the swiftness of the pegasi, stamina and resilience of the earth pony, dexterity and utility of the unicorns.
>There was no advantage to testing and I could hardly imagine betting on a pony’s willingness to throw its weight against that of a beastly opponent, so in the end the safest path was to heighten whatever abilities they already had.
>Trackers and scouts, the pegasi could be partnered with the fastest gryphons and with their movement relying on the beating of wings, they could be made to wield spears and swords by hoof.
>Unicorns could throw javelins or work bows, the most skillful could even manipulate numerous arms, both in close quarters and in range, and two of them were capable of one form or another of offensive spellcasting.
>The zebra were capable of much the same as earth ponies and had a proclivity for adapting and using everything nature gave them in creative and conclusive ways, so it was unsurprising that I would find use in them as trappers and crafters, along with the ponies that shared in these talents.
>In assessing the earth ponies I also found that there were some whose strength could be on par with a minotaur’s, naturally finding their spot with them in our vanguard.
>All those that were at my disposal were trained in what I knew, and I shared everything that I felt they would require.
>After a month I had fourteen companions.
>I refused to call them guards or lead them by any sort of rank, so I dubbed us all monster hunters and made no distinction between any one of us.
>If they were to look for guidance and teachings in me, it would be by merit and skill alone, never by title.
>I had been bound by titles and names for too long and I would not let the ghost of the clans and greed follow me here.
>We started by hunting small game, things that were manageable and could pose an opportunity for the lessons to set firmly in their mind and muscle, before eventually moving onto deadlier creatures.
>Within three months we had killed a pack of timberwolves, a stray gargoyle, and cleared a newborn nest of rafflesia lizards.
>The farm I had rested in with Lumen set up a supply line with us and acted as a forward post from where a watchtower and an inn was erected.
>Word of Verenheights spread and we soon made contact with nomad tribes and pony explorers whom sought to colonize new lands.
>The skies were kind and did not unleash blows or tall waves on us, and the town saw its first expansion.
>What we came to know as Sea Serpents ventured curiously to the tower and then to our shores, bringing with them tales of their underwater culture and a life beyond the sun touched coasts.
>I remember a name in particular, not because it was attached to anything of import or because of any aware interest towards it, and in truth I could not pinpoint the reason for it aside from the way it stuck to my mind when they mentioned it in passing.
>Yarnak.
>Somehow it invoked in me a dislocated sort of vertigo, like losing oneself in a cloud of mist over a lake or flying into a storm front, and I believe to would not be a stretch to think that it is some form of deity, perhaps even a progenitor to these strange creatures.
>It left its imprint within me, but I did not investigate the nature of such feelings for there were terrors far more real for me to face.
>Day after day I continued to care for Lumen, waiting for her to show signs of life beyond the almost indistinguishable rising of her chest and the slowly growing bulge on her belly.
>Seven months passed since the appearance of her tower, of which I spent every single night by her side, pondering her fate and that of the unborn one.
>With the sun in its zenith and the townsfolk in monotonous drifting, I was at work washing the sweat off her face and beginning to move down her neck, when she inhaled long and deeply, as if fighting for air in the middle of the sea, and I saw her hooves abruptly kicking at the air like a filly.
>I jumped back, startled, topping over the bucket of water that I had been using, and gawked agitatedly at her sudden animation.
>They did not cease and I rushed to her, finding that her eyes remained tightly closed, her features contorted in grimace.
>Not knowing what else to do I called out to her and pressed an open claw against her bosom.
>There was no telling what new condition had taken her, nor how much of her was bound to this world and to me.
>I could feel the beating of her heart, electric and full of her bewitching essence, and in her face I found the struggle of a dying mare.
>She tossed and turned and I heard her speak in tongues unknown to me.
>Dread was choking me as the reality of her death abruptly became undeniable.
>Desperate, the only thing that I could do was whisper encouragements into her ear, beg her not to give up, and pray to whatever gods existed to save her from the unseen forces that kept her from me.
>Even then I knew that no one would listen, just like no one would listen in the pits.
>Lost to panic, I headed for the door and howled for all the cliffside to hear, and in a bright flash of teal light there was a unicorn before me, frightened and talking too quickly for me to follow.
>The poor stallion must have seen the look about me because he got quiet even before I snatched him by the throat and demanded his help, a violence in me that was undeserving to the one that had answered my pleadings.
>He did not run away or struggle against me, instead taking my grip with prodigious solemnity.
>Only then did I recognize the grayish tangelo coat and messy mane that distinguished him as the resident physician.
>I let him go, did not acknowledge his name, and looked back at Lumen.
>There was no need for me to explain the situation as he quickly assessed it by himself, and once I moved to the side he wordlessly went to examine her.
>As he did, others arrived and gathered.
>Predictably, those that I had been training had been among the first.
>The ones up front tried their best not to cross the threshold uninvited while those at the back pushed to see what was taking place inside.
>The unicorn stallion made whatever observation he could without the aid of magic but seemed unsatisfied, and although a more in-depth, magic-centered examination had provided nothing before, this new development implied it would be worthwhile.
>He lit up his horn, cast a beam over her, something that I had witnessed him doing before during the early days of her condition, and he focused it over her head.
>For a moment I thought he had found something within her, as his expression denoted signs of a meaningful yet alarming discovery, but he did not end his casting, he did not turn his gaze away from her.
>He simply burst into a fit of terrible shrieking.
>Then the magic appeared to rebound off of Lumen and strike him in the form of a lightning bolt which sent him flying back, landing hard across the room and kicking at his head as if worms had dug their way inside and were feeding on his brain.
>There were gasps and horrified echoes in the crowd, and in my helplessness I just stared at Lumen, selfishly hoping that what had taken over her had passed onto the stallion and away from her life.
>I stumbled forward and noticed the red shine at the base of his horn splatter and stain the wood, dying his fur and mane, gashing out of the open wounds, with absentminded interest.
>Whether there was anything I could do to help him wasn’t for me to dwell on.
>I only truly moved when I heard her voice through all the screams.
>“Blaze?”
>It was in a raspy, forgotten way that she spoke in, as if the days without conversation had forced her to rely on shaded experiences that she could hardly recall in order to formulate words.
>She seized her tossing and began fumbling with her front hooves in search of what I took to be me.
>The unicorn stopped screaming, simply collapsing onto the wood and whimpering like a wounded animal as he took to rhythmically beating his skull against the floor.
>Had he finally caused enough damage that the physical trauma prevented him from voicing his pain, or had the effects subsided enough that he no longer needed to?
>Regardless, ignoring him became easy.
>I held tightly to one of Lumen’s outstretched hooves and answered her plights as best as I could.
>She was hot, more than the abnormal temperature of fever, and I came to think she’d leave burn marks on me.
>To her it made no difference, and soon there was another reason for me to worry.
>Even while I cupped her hoof and spurred reassuring words, her eyes would not settle on mine, no matter how much I tried to bait them with my own.
>They moved erratically, lost in her cradle of straw, the color of fog and of ghastly, nightmare dwellers.
>“A candle, dear. It’s too dark in here.”
>I signaled with a wing and the object was brought to me by the mouth of a mare of orchid pink fur and auburn mane made golden by the flame.
>She was shaking, clearly disturbed from the unnatural behavior of the stallion, and pushed her way out once her task was complete.
>I think I heard her vomit.
>With the flame close to our faces I stared deeply into Lumen and was stolen by the sight.
>She did not spot the light that I carried nor did she react to it, but while it flickered, so did something swirl in her eyes.
>Manifested in them were serpents of too many eyes and fins of bone and golden membranes; strings like branches of oak trees that extend high and wide across starlit, unfathomable horizons; halls that rose in nebulous, cosmic swamps, where a father sits upon his fragile throne of creation; rivers of silver that flow across the innards of our world, carrying in their streams the essences of magic.
>There were lights and faces and suns that wept fire as within their bowels unwanted children stirred and dreamt, trapped forever.
>I saw the truth of her, of the name and of the mark she wore upon her flank, and it dawned on me how fragile I truly was.
>She blinked, as if nothing was wrong, and the images misted.
>“Blaze? A light, please?”
>Repeating her request only sunk the plight even further into the pit of my stomach, where it engorged itself with every shadow of my soul.
>I caught her horn coming alive with magic and she bathed the one-room house with her glow.
>Still she did not find me, or the candle, and I had not the backbone to break the truth to her.
>Whatever had kept her from us for so long had taken a personal toll on her.
>She lifted her free hoof between us and gently nudged her nuzzle, then her horn, and finally the space between her eyes.
>“Ahhhhh. My vision.”
>A sigh of thoughtfulness, a pause to put together what knowledge she had, and a statement of unwelcomed finality.
>Her voice should have carried distress and longing, traces of the gloom that could be rightfully associated with such a loss, instead to her it was as if reading a particularly revealing paragraph in a tome.
>I did not say a thing for some time, nor did she, and it was in the silence that she and I noticed the wet pounding in background.
>“What is that? Is somepony else here?”
“They are all here. But that is a stallion. He tried to use magic on you. I don’t know what went wrong.”
>In my explanation she found and displayed great fright, and all but ordered me to bring him close.
>I would have rather not separate myself from her just as she had just escaped whatever oblivion had kept her away, but I did her bidding without presenting my grievances.
>Fit as I might be, I only dragged the poor sod across the floor like a sack of produce as he convulsed, overtaken by seizures.
“Do you know what’s going on?”
>“Quiet, dear. I must concentrate now.”
>I nodded -couldn’t help myself- and waited.
>From her horn came a wave of sensations that inspired personal and intimate connections, all at once filling my senses with her smell and touch and taste, instantly reliving each second of our shared eroticism.
>The flutter of my wings must have betrayed my arousal, for such impressions left me then.
>“Hush now, unicorn. Embrace me.”
>She soothed him with the care of a lover and he was overtaken by her, at last ending his acts of self-harm and taking on a listless stillness.
>A tether of light sprang from the tip of her horn and traveled slowly through the air, ambiguously creating a link between the horns of the two unicorns.
>I wanted to speak out against it, but it wasn’t my place to intervene in dealings I couldn’t possibly comprehend.
>Lumen knew the ways of things magic and running my mouth would only distract her.
>She appeared to sense this and added some words of comfort for the two of us.
>“Everything is going to be alright.”
>Soon I witnessed an orb –a familiar silver- manifest from somewhere inside his head, rise to his horn, and latch onto the tether like a fish on a hook.
>Lumen then called it back, and it was as natural as if she were calling a piece of herself that had somehow managed to escape and hide inside the unsuspecting unicorn, her body absorbing the line and catch, the tether following the spiral on her horn and the orb disappearing within her skull as it wove with her.
>A light shone behind her eyes and I thought I heard the rustling of leaves on a lonely tree.
>The stallion moaned and groaned and asked where he was.
>She did another long inhale, then coughed twice.
>Someone behind me cried.
>“She is healed! They are both healed!”
>Another hollered.
>“Our lady returns! Our lady!”
>Then they clamored, voices blending together in uproar.
>“Lumen! Lumen of the West!”
>What injuries the stallion had sustained were gone now, the only telling of them were blotches and drops on the wood interior.
>Lumen now breathed normally, with ease and vigor, and she turned her head towards me with a smile as she began to massage her belly in loving strokes.
>All I could see however, was the cursed fog in her eyes.