The sun beat overhead, making the air like a boiling pot of water, a thick soup that could barely be inhaled. Spike dutifully put one foot in front of the other, staring down at his feet as he walked in order to not notice how little distance he was making.

He had been walking for hours now and the heat made it hard to think—hard to focus on anything but the monotony of his feet going forward blindly across the sands. Coming to the top of a large sandy hill, he brought his hand to the pendent yet again. Its blue snake-like thread danced and weaved between the rolling sands, vanishing off into the featureless distance ahead. Well, not quite featureless, Spike could make out the vaguest glimpse of a large, towering plateau, the heat from the word around it making it no more real than a mirage. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting towards it to make sure it was real. The image stayed with him. It was miles, long, arduous miles away, but it was there. And the small part of him still coherent knew something like that would be a necessity tonight, when the temperature would plummet to a painful chill.

He reached into his bag, reluctantly pulling out a flask of water. He pulled the cork free with his teeth and swallowed it, nearly gagging at its disgusting warmth, before tossing the now-empty flask aside and continuing his march forward.

As he shuffled along through the sands, so drained of energy he wasn’t even moving his arms any more with his steps, he began to wonder how the others would fair in this situation. Twilight would just magic her way around. Same as Rarity. Dash could just fly across this damnable place, Pinkie… he didn’t know how, but she’d make it though and still have enough energy to throw a party in the next town over.

He grimly smiled at the thought, then returned to his little game. Applejack and Fluttershy… AJ was tough, really tough, but even with his draconian blood, the heat was slowly sapping his life away. True, he hadn’t embraced his heritage as much as others, so its effects were diluted, like a wine drowned in water, but that still gave him an advantage over the other two. In fact, he could probably outlast both of them here.

The boy’s laugh was quiet and dry, more akin to a sigh. It wasn’t often he could win games like that, so he relished the victory with a rueful almost-smile, before his mind slipped away to other thoughts. Or, rather, a lackthereof. The sun took away his want to think, to do, to be, but he kept marching with his trembling legs, a damned soldier from some legion of the dead, unaware that he should of collapsed hours, days, years earlier, but his convictions keeping his long-rotted legs moving forward.

It was hours later, under the setting sun, when he collapsed to the sand, not even bothering to raise his hands up to soften the impact.

Spike lay there, his arms like jelly and his heart heavy, certain that this was it, that he couldn’t get up. Yet even then, he shuffled, rising to his knees with a hiss of pain. Another long moment, and he shuffled to one foot, then the other, and resumed his slow, plodding walk across the wastelands.

The air held something resembling pleasantness when he finally arrived at the plateau and Spike relished it, knowing that it’d fade soon enough once the dusky, rose-tinted horizon faded into the cold night’s blues, so he worked as fast as he could, searching the plateau for what he hoped would be there.

He found it. A small opening that lead into an alcove about six feet around. Peeking into it, he was pleased to notice no bones or animal droppings. It was the last thing in the world he needed, getting mauled by an animal while he slept in its home. He sat down on the cold stone, shivering instantly at the sudden stimulation and unnatural chill compared to what he had felt all day beforehand. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the clothes he had rammed inside. He threw on one pair and used another as a makeshift blanket. He wanted a fire, but knew there wasn’t anything to burn nearby, so he sat, watching as the last remaining sparks of light left, and cast him into the pitch blackness.

The boy shut his eyes, doing his best to relax on the uncomfortable stone, and drifted off to a fitful sleep.

The morning came too quickly, even though his sleeping arrangement was so poor. Rising with a groan, Spike gathered his clothes and put them back into his bag, and took a step forward, swearing at his aching feet. Ignoring the hurt, he pressed on, stepping out to the glaring sun.

Reaching for the pendent once more, Spike saw the thread hug the rocky plateau and venture once more up a large, sandy hill. Seeing no reason to stay around, he ventured out again into the blazing sun.

If the first day of his journey was hard, the second was even worse. Muscles he didn’t even know he had ached and groaned, and he was scared to even take off his boots, for fear of what sort of blisters they must hold after such an arduous march, but even then, he rose to the occasion and pushed forward.

He was rewarded for his perseverance towards midday when he saw the faint outlines of a building. Keeping his optimism in check, he walked towards it, amazed at his luck.

It was nothing more than a hovel, a small shack, but after a day of nothing resembling civilization, Spike found it better than Castle Canterlot could ever be.

Stepping inside, he gagged. The room smelled soured and spoiled. He glanced around at the single room shack, noting a table, a worn duster on a nearby coat-rack, and a bed, where another corpse greeted him with a boney smile. Morbidly fascinated, Spike approached the corpse.

This one had been dead for a good while, judging by its skeletal appearance. He didn’t notice any blood or signs of struggle. If anything, it seemed like the person passed away quietly, perhaps from illness or age. Either way, Spike quickly left the body’s side, moving back to the duster. It might of been a case of too little too late for his sunburnt and aching skin, but he took the clothing and donned it, rolling up the sleeves to fit it better to his person. He spared one more glance across the room in the hopes for anything else useful and froze. On a threadbare cabinet was a can of tomatoes, sealed away tightly in a mason jar.

Spike gave a small, appreciative nod to the man’s corpse. It was stupid, but Spike felt that he deserved at least that much respect—for all Spike knew, this food could mean the difference between life and death on his travels. Popping it open, he wolfed them down without a second thought, right there at the kitchen table.

He wondered about the man, truthfully. Who would choose to live alone like this in the middle of nowhere? A crook? Or something more benign, like an explorer. Either way, he wasn’t going to get answers from him. Dead men tell no tales, after all. Done with searching, Spike headed out the front and left the dead man inside his dead house.

The evening came with good news. As he rose up to the top of another sandy hill he spotted a town in the distance. It didn’t seem like much, just a dusty little settlement with a few huts, but to Spike it meant a possible meal, some water and a place to sleep that wasn’t a freezing rock for the night. He practically sprinted to the settlement, tripping over himself and tumbling head-over-heel down a sand dune as he did so, but he didn’t care, all that mattered was he made it somewhere. He stumbled once more and landed hard on the sand.

Before he rose to his feet, close to half a dozen people were on the scene, all of them women, except for a single man, carrying a small child. The women soon backed away from Spike, allowing the man to take a good long look at him before he set the child down.

Spike was about to say something when the child approached. Spike looked on in confusion at the girl. Finally, after close to a minute of silence, the young one was face to face with Spike, looking him over with a curiosity Spike knew all too well from when he was younger. Moments later, the child reached out her hand, placing it on his red and blistering face.

He winced, the sudden contact on his skin almost unbearable. His pain however, took second place to what he witnessed next. The young girl’s eyes began to glow with arcane energy as a white hue surrounded her tiny forearms. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her hand deeper into Spike’s skin, causing the young man to grunt in discomfort. But almost as soon as it had started, the discomfort was subsiding, being replaced with a coolness he could only have dreamed of a few hours back.

Spike stared down at her once she moved her hands away from his wounds. Or, rather, his former wounds, after she had laid her small palms onto his body, they had vanished, leaving only a sort of warm tingle in their wake.

“Inside,” the man said before Spike was able to thank her, “everyone inside.”

The women quickly obeyed and the girl walked back into what Spike assumed was her father’s arms. Once he gathered her he looked down to Spike. “That includes you too, stranger,” he said, adjusting the girl in his grasp, “follow me, we mustn’t be outside for much longer.”

Without a word Spike headed the man’s orders and followed him into the largest hut, where the women seemed to be in the middle of making dinner. The smell was so enticing to Spike that he didn’t even realize that he had started drooling, the excess saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth and all but dripping on the floor.

“Come, stranger,” the man said, walking past one of the women working hard on the meal, “have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Spike replied, moving over to the table and taking a seat. “Generous of you.”

“Trust me, stranger, I would not have offered this kindness to you if not for Durriyah,” he replied, looking to the child now in his lap, “it is rare that she shows her abilities, let alone to a man who had fallen from the sands.”

“Durriyah?” He looked to the child. “Thank you for earlier. That was good magicwork, for a kid that young.”

The little girl shyly nodded and buried her head into the man’s cloak, clinging to him more tightly than she previously was. “Forgive her.” The man gave a small pat onto her back. “She is a mute and cannot speak for herself, but I assure you she is grateful for the kind words.” The man stuck out his hand, showing that he had several missing teeth with his smile. “I am Badr al Din, head of this house and Durriyah’s father.”

“Spike. Spike of the Sparkle clan,” he promptly replied, offering a weathered smile and returning the handshake.

“One thousand greetings Spike,” Badr replied with a nod, “forgive me if my manners seemed harsh at first, it is not often that we have visitors in these parts.”

“I understand. You’re being far nicer than I could ask, considering, uh, how we were introduced.”

“Very true.” Badr looked to Durriyah. “But she has yet again swayed me with her kindness. It is the first time she has ever healed a man without at least knowing his name.” Badr paused for a moment before leaning into the table, squinting his eyes as he examined Spike. “Ah, a dragonkin,” he said neutrally, returning to his normal position, “a rare sight in Saddle Arabia, tell me, what would bring one like yourself to these lands? The gold is close to a weeks walk north.”

“Gold?” Spike repeated, blinking. “What are you talking about?”

“Am I wrong in assuming you are a Dragonkin?” Badr asked, looking hard at Spike once again, “your eyes tell of your nature, or at least I believe they do.”

He thought to his eyes, slitted like a serpent, and nearly slapped his forehead in dumb realization. “I am, yeah.”

“Then what is it that brings you to these…” Badr paused, noticing the chain draped around Spike’s neck. “Your necklace,” he said pointing to Spike’s chest, “what stone does it bare as its centerpiece?”

He looked down, giving it a small raise from his chest. “The Desert Rose. That’s what I’ve heard it called from someone important to me.”

Badr jumped in his seat, as well as the others in the hut with them. “The Desert Rose?” he asked in disbelief, to which Spike replied with a nod, “who is the woman who gave you her heart?”

“Amira. Amira of Hoofof.” He crossed his arms. “Do you know her?”

“The Queen of the Damned…” Badr muttered, his mouth agape.

“What?” Spike narrowed his brow. ““What are you talking about?”

“Lady Amira; The Gem of Arabia, was what she was once called,” Badr explained, “but when she was forced to take the hand of Hakem: The King of Lies, she became his unwilling queen…” he paused looking to his daughter as she once again buried herself into his cloak. “It is he that forces us to hide Durriyah, he would use her to further his war to take this land. We fled our home as fast as we could, but not before one of his mindless dogs slayed my wife.”

“A man like that claiming to be king…” Spike scowled. “I won’t let him. I won’t.”

“Your eyes speak truth,” Badr noted, “but how do you plan on stopping him? Hakem has nearly seven thousand radicals at his back, you are but one man with conviction.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shuffling awkwardly in his chair. “I don’t want to die, but if I have to, I will for Amira.”

“She must mean a great deal to you if you are willing to lay down your life so willingly,” Badr said, looking to his daughter once more, “but then again, you have her heart, I would expect nothing less from any other man in your position.”

As Badr finished his thought, two of the women approached the table, placing a meager dinner upon the table. Spike looked to the food curiously, it barely seemed to be enough to feed him, but it looked as if it were going to have to be shared among the eight of them. Before anyone moved Durriyah grabbed a handful of the pieta and shoved it in her mouth, prompting a small laugh from Badr.

“Please forgive her.” He smiled, “she is still too young to understand manners, but it is custom for the guests to eat first.” Badr pushed the bowl of food in Spike’s direction. “Go on, eat.”

He looked down at the simple soup and nodded, grasping the bowl in his hands. “Thank you.” He took a sip of the food. It was watered down, and not very flavorful, but to him, it might as well been the best soup he had ever ate. “Delicious.”

“I am glad you find it worthy,” Badr nodded, “and now we—”

A loud crash interrupted Badr mid sentence followed by the sound of a gunshot, causing one of the women at the table to slump over, a pool of blood forming around her head.

“Surrender the Mage!” a voice roared, “least we saly you all as the gutless cowards you are!”

“What in the hell?!” Spike called out, glancing over at the dead woman, then at the others in a panic.

“We’ve been discovered!” Badr shouted, cradling his crying daughter. “Run!”

“Shit!” Spike yelled. He sprinted towards the door, reaching to his pocket and pulling out the gun at his belt. “Keep her safe,” he ordered, leaning against the wall next to the door. “I’ll try to slow them down.”

Badr held his daughter close and nodded towards Spike. “You are very brave,” he said softly, as the survivors rushed out the opposite door.

Spike took a deep breath as he leaned against what was left of the wall, sweat began to pool at his brow. He dipped around what cover he had, aiming at where he thought the attackers would be. But to his surprise there was no one there, with his adrenaline pumping it took him a few seconds to realize what was going on.

“Oh no…” Spike said. He turned to see the remainder of Badr’s family frozen in front of a line of men and horses.

“Kill the traitors of the true king!” one of them yelled, aiming his pistol at the group, “but keep the mage alive, the king has need of her!”

The sounds of guns echoed through the night sky, instantly dropping three of the women. Another ran as fast as she could into the night, only to be cut down by a sword. Badr was soon the only one left and he ran, holding onto his daughter for dear life. All too soon, a horseman carrying a sword charged after them.

Frozen, Spike looked on in horror as the horsemen closed in on Badr, the horseman’s sword raised high above his head, taunting the man, letting him linger for a few scant seconds more until he swung down. Badr’s body went limp, tumbling over and kicking up bloody sand. The head of a man he barely knew rolled towards Spike’s feet, the look of fear permanently frozen on his face.

It took everything in Spike’s power not to throw up then and there, but he forced himself to keep going. There was still one person other than him left alive. “Durriyah,” he said to himself, looking to where Badr had fallen.

A small child sat in a pool of red sand, crying uncontrollably as one of the horsemen dismounted and made a mad dash for her. Spike grit his teeth. The cowards had caused enough suffering. He wasn’t going to let them take her and make more. He reached to his side, pulling out the revolver he found on the conductor.

Spike rose his weapon towards the rider, pulling back the hammer and squeezing his finger on the trigger. The deafening sound of the ball leaving the chamber rang through Spike’s ears as the smell of powder filled his nostrils. The man he had aimed at stumbled and fell to the sand. Taking the opportunity, Spike rushed towards Durriyah, trying to get to her before another one of Hakem’s men could grab her.

“Come on, get up,” he ordered, reaching down to grasp her arm.

The girl continued to cry, a stone amid red sand.

“Durriyah, please, get up,” Spike begged, tugging at her arm. “We can’t stay here.”

Just as Durriyah looked to Spike, he felt a heavy blow to the back of his head. He stumbled, almost fell on Durriyah, but instead turned, landing on his side and snapping his gaze towards his attacker. The man he had shot earlier. He was holding his shoulder, the red patch on his clothes signaling that Spike had hit his target, just not as well as he had hoped.

Spike tried to react, scramble to his feet, but the man’s snapped his foot forward, landing squarely on Spike’s forehead and dropping him back to the sand. The man’s boot slammed into Spike’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. Spike looked onward, dazed and coughing up blood from a cheek he bit after the first kick. The man raised his sword yet again.

“Your blood will soak the sand just as that man’s,” he hissed, looking to Spike with rage, “burn in hell filthy-”

The man’s statement fell short and the blade he held fell to his side. Spike grimaced, but opened his eyes and looked up, waiting for his end.

The moonlight reflected off the blade that pierced through the enemy’s chest. Blood dripping onto Spike’s face, causing him to spit and squirm underneath the man. A large shadow appeared behind the assailant, followed by a voice Spike recognized immediately.

“You first, degenerate scum…” Al’Kair growled, pulling his scimitar out of the man’s back.

The man limply fell to the side, dead before Al’Kair pulled out the blade. It was then that the giant man looked down, his expression turning from rage to surprise instantly.

“Spike?” he questioned, running a thumb over his steel to wipe blood off his blade, “what in the name of the heavens are you doing out here?”

The boy rubbed his mouth and rose, spitting to the side as he tried to clean himself. “I could ask you the same thing. Why aren’t you at the capitol?” He shook his head. “But that doesn’t matter right now, I think there are more of ‘em around.”

“They are no longer of concern,” Al’Kair replied as the sound of horses thundered behind him, “As for my appearance, I’m leading the King’s army.” He paused, looking behind himself as he let out a growl.

“We’re taking Hoofof back.”