A curious thought struck Adamant Tower as he watched the last embers of the fire turn grey and cold.

As far as he or any other pony, with the possible exception of lady Fluttershy, knew the Astartes were the be-all and end-all of the human race. They had mentioned being gene-altered warrior and, of course, their origins were alien to the indigenous races of Equestria. But there was little to suggest that any branch of humanity existed besides the colossal war machines he found himself bunking down with in the ruins of Ponyville town hall. Even without the knowledge of just how divorced from the rest of their species the Space Marines were, however, the similarities they bore with the Equestrians could in some instances be particularly jarring.

He hadn’t realised that Space Marines needed to sleep, for example.

But obviously they did, given the slumbering forms of several of the giants that surrounded him now. When Nehemiah had suggested they try and get some rest the pony had reacted with what he thought was understandable surprise, and Zuriel had offered some explanation on the limits of Astartes biology. They weren’t fools, of course; at least two of them were awake at any time and standing watch, and the rotations were swift. Even so the inert and unsettlingly unattentive airs given off by the sleeping Space Marines was enough to make the pony nervous. Then again, he mused to himself, perhaps he should feel honoured. Maybe he was the only one of his kind who even knew that Space Marines could sleep? Maybe that made it so he, again with the exception of Fluttershy, knew more about them than anypony else that remained?

It still didn’t make him feel better.

The Space Wolf and the Iron Hand had the current watch, and that didn’t reassure Adamant either. He’d almost managed to convince himself that Voss’s lashing out from earlier had simply been a response to the stress of losing his battle-brother – he blinked, surprising himself as he used the term almost without realising – but the Medusan’s usually impassive and detached personality made such an explanation hard to countenance. The memory of it, the sudden display of aggression towards him, had left the pony in what felt like an almost catatonic state for a while after the tension had diffused. Zuriel had called it ‘transhuman dread’, the psychological effect that being confronted with creatures of a Space Marines’ stature had on mere mortals. It seemed as appropriate a term as any, and the last traces of it clinging to his mind was what stopped the pony from sleeping.

At least Voss was patrolling the outside of the building, Adamant supposed, and wasn’t in there with him. The realisation that he actually preferred the company of the Space Wolf was almost sufficient to provoke a dark chuckle from him. If he strained his ears he could just about pick out the vigilator circumnavigating the building outside, bionic limbs adding weight to his ceramite armour and making each step reverberate. He supposed that it was a testament to the stealth that being a vigilator presumably entailed that Voss was as quiet as he was.

“Lad.”

The sudden throaty growl snapped the pony from his reverie, head raising sharply and glancing around. The fire had long since gone out and left the ruin in blackness, but red light was still able to shine in through the split timbers. It reflected off Helsturnn’s golden eyes. The two pinpricks of yellow stared at him, fangs occasionally flashing too, and some deep-seated survival urge from the earliest days of ponykind made Adamant fold his ears against his head and draw back defensively. At the very least he didn’t whimper. The grey hunter chuckled, lupine eyes flashing with feral amusement as the buzzing of power armour that Adamant had managed to tune out crept back into his consciousness once more.

“Still scared of me, eh?” The Space Wolf asked. His voice was quieter and perhaps fractionally softer than usual, though even then it remained a throaty rumble. The pony took a deep breath and shook off the worst of the fear that clung to him. He shrugged.

“For saying we’re supposed to be working together, you’ve not exactly given me much reason not to be.” He pointed out. There was more bitterness in his voice than he’d intended, but the small chuckle the Fenrisian gave suggested he didn’t disagree. “But you and Zuriel are more amicable to me than the others.” The pony conceded. “So…not as much as I was.” He hesitated a moment before. “We’ve had this conversation before. Why?”

He had been expecting some kind of grunted put-down from the Astartes, so the fact that Helsturnn seemed to be genuinely mulling the answer over was a mildly disconcerting surprise. The Space Wolf stood before offering any explanation, slipping the combat blade he’d been fiddling with back into his belt. “Let’s walk and talk, horse. No son of Russ should be cooped up in a pen like this.”

“Umm…didn’t he tell us explicitly to wait?” Adamant pointed out as he glanced at Nehemiah. The Dark Angel sergeant was sleeping, or at least looked like he was, and rested the palm of one gauntlet atop the pommel of his sword whilst the blade’s tip dug into the ground. The pony looked away and immediately regretted asking as he felt Helsturnn’s scowl. The Wolf started to walk away without another word. He clearly expected to be followed, and Adamant momentarily considered not playing along and staying put. It lasted a few seconds before his body started to move of its own accord and he quietly trotted after the Astartes.

The sky was the same moonless, arterial crimson it always was nowadays. Adamant shivered as he trotted out into it, looking up with some trepidation. A storm was raging somewhere in the ‘clouds’, a crack of what he hoped was thunder echoing cross the tortured sky. Although day and night were no longer concepts that carried any weight the shadows cast by rubble and ruins still seemed elongated and even more threatening than usual. Voss was still patrolling, and Adamant could not help but tense up as he heard the Medusan’s steps get closer and closer. Finally he came into view. The light twisted his black armour and silver trim into a visceral shade of red. He stayed put a moment even after Helsturnn gestured for him to head back in side, eyes methodically from pony to Astartes and back again, but after what felt like an age the vigilator finally complied.

“Let me ask you something, lad.” Helsturnn began again in his gruff voice. The Wolf had already begun to mount a tumbled pile of rubble as he spoke. He crouched atop the fallen wood and stone, the debris somehow supporting his weight, and once again Adamant was struck by just how predatory he watched in the warped light. The ex-guard trotted closer all the same, tentatively sitting on his haunches beside him. Helsturnn didn’t look round, his yellow eyes still fixated on the castle looming on a distant cliff-side.

“…yes?” The sea-green pony prompted as an uncomfortable silence descended. The grey hunter stirred ever so slightly, and if he hadn’t known better Adamant would have said that he had been lost in thought.

“Do you know what’s in there?” There was a curious inflection to the transhuman’s voice. It put the pony in mind of some old stallion by the fire side recounting a tale from his youth, like a storyteller reciting the words to some saga to inspire his fellow warriors. Helsturnn was seeing more than just the physical process of their quest here, that was for sure. “Inside the castle. Do you know what awaits us at the end?”

“…why would I?” An impudence that the pony had not intended crept into his voice nevertheless. “Nobody’s set hoof in Canterlot since its fall, the Iron Warriors were probably the last…” He hesitated, memories of bright plasma shot and a falling carcass etched onto his mind. Helsturnn seemed momentarily as maudlin as he thought back to his own past. “No. I don’t.” Adamant finished eventually. “If I did, I would have told you…”

“Aye, I don’t doubt you would have, whelp.” Adamant felt like he should be offended at the name, and so the fact that he wasn’t surprised him. It almost seemed like a term of endearment. “You might be a Xenos, but you’re not stupid, I’ll give you that.” The old Wolf allowed with a toothy grin. “But you’ve heard nothing? No sagas, no stories, whispered rumours even?” He cocked his head, nostrils flaring as if sniffing the blood on the air. The town seemed to constantly stink of it. “Stories have power, lad. Everyone in the Rout knew this. Even the lies are inspired by something’s wyrd.” The term was unfamiliar to the pony, but he knew better than to ask as he looked at the Space Marine. “So share some with me.”

“…I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but shouldn’t we wait for your friends to wake up?” He used the word without thinking, and realised it too late. Fortunately the shrill squawk of some daemonic creature in the distance stole their attentions. Helsturnn’s sword was already in hand, the storm grey of an armoured finger poised over the activation rune. When it was clear it was just the noise of a far-off and presumably wandering predator, both relaxed, and Adamant took the opportunity to begin again. “What I mean is…like, it seems pointless telling the same story twice. I might be able to think of some, but I suppose the others would want to hear it…” Helsturnn’s silence was hardly helping. The pony even worked up the courage to frown at him. “They would care, wouldn’t they?” The grey hunter’s sword was still in his hand. He tapped the flat of its body against his chin, thinking it over.

“Zuriel would.” He allowed at last. “He’s a damn pretty-boy but he’s got some sense in him. Voss will go in regardless as long as it brings the machine-man some measure of satisfaction, if they can even still feel it. And as for Nehemiah and his brothers…” He trailed off with a chuckle, but there was something decidedly hostile about it. “Dark Angels are not known for sharing information. It would compromise their inflated sense of self-importance and the air of mystery they try to affect.” He laughed quietly, and to Adamant’s own surprise he was laughing a little too. Helsturnn grinned at the sight, before spitting dismissively. “First Legion, my arse.” He snarled, baring his fangs on instinct.

“Okay, I see your point.” The pony allowed. He sat back a little, ignoring the threatening nature of his surroundings as he tapped his chin. “Well…yes, there are rumours. There was always going to be rumours.” He pursed his lips as he recalled how he’d heard most of them; the few taverns that existed in the remnants of the Crystal Empire were always packed as Equestrians and the refugees from other lands tried their best to drown whatever sorrows assailed them, and since leaving the Guard he’d been no different. At the time he’d considered it a weakness. He supposed that it was actually paying dividends right now. “Some say that it’s exactly how you’d expect, all rubble ruled over by daemons, and that anything that enters gets torn apart in seconds. Some say that all the monsters left a while ago, and that all the Council had to do was send a reclamation force to seize the ruins and start rebuilding.” Their journey here had so far put paid to that idea. “And others…” At that he fell into thoughtful silence. Helsturnn kept looking at him, obviously intrigued now.

“Aye?” He prompted, shifting a little atop the pile of rubble. “And others?” Adamant looked back up at him as he rolled his tongue around a cheek. The pony gave a small shrug.

“Some say that whatever gateway brought them here’s just sitting there still, and on the other side is…I don’t want to know. Some say that the castle’s been rebuilt inside to its former glory, though that’s just creepy. Others, like those cultists who worship the daemons we mentioned, they think we’ve already been consumed by the gateway, and that this is just some…mass delusion.” He gave a dismissive scoff, but the winds whistling around him turned it into a shiver.

Helsturnn listened to all the possibilities, still with the look of a wizened sage on his face. When Adamant was done he gave a shallow nod, body rattling as he exhaled.

“Sounds like the wyrd has been twisted, for sure.” That word again. The pony wondered whether he should ask, before deciding against it. “But our own is bound to it, now.” The Wolf went on with a degree of accepting finality. “Whatever your species thinks happens after you die, lad, I’d make peace with it. Wouldn’t surprise me if we’re all-“

He stopped his pronouncement of doom mid-sentence, the very silence jarring the pony. Helsturnn ignored him. His nostrils flared and sniffed, his grip on the sword tightened, his posture changed to that of a prowling animal atop a rocky outcrop. Adamant felt it too, his rusty but not absent guard instincts hammering in his brain. He looked up at his companion. The grey hunter looked back down, the spirit of the hunt already overtaking him. His voice was a wet and feral growl.

“Maleficarum.”

The sounds of madness were still ringing loud in the group’s ears as they fled from the hall, but they were slowly getting quieter. Most of them suspected that was due to the constant clatter of their equipment. They had left the instruments behind, somehow instinctually knowing that despite the frenzy they’d inspired no-one would dare touch the devices, but most of their costumes were still intact. It spoke volumes on their dedication to getting out of there that none of them had collapsed from heatstroke yet.

Eventually the group reached the corridor they’d started in, and it was in the same moment an unconscious decision to take a breather was reached. They all skidded to a halt, bar Vortun who was the slowest and could simply stop, some leaning back on the wall whilst others doubled over and braced their hands on their knees. Silence reigned as all tried to comprehend what they’d just achieved. Lorkhan slipped his mask off and held it loosely by his side, the others all following suit except for Zuko.

“We…we did it…” As Rorke let a thick glob of split land on his palm and used it to try and wipe off the blood drying on his face, Barbus slowly straightened. The boy’s voice was both dumbfounded and borderline hysterical. “Holy hell, we actually did it!” The unusual sensation of success flooded them all in the same moment. Barbus and Zuko shared an echoing high-five, Varvillon allowed himself a fist-pump, whilst even Vortun gave a triumphant smirk.

“Did you see us?” Varvillon was just as eager to revel in the feeling as the rest of them as he gave a maniacal giggle. “Did you see them? We…we rocked!” A maddened energy seemed to have infected him in the aftermath of their performance, braces flashing in the light as he grinned and his cheeks taking on a red glow. Lorkhan paid his mania little mind as he stared at the floor. None of them seemed to notice their leader’s quiet, or at least none of them commented on it. It was only when he pushed off the wall and pointed down the corridor that their attentions were drawn.

“Fuck you!” He shouted, and for once the smile on his face seemed genuine. “Fuck you all! And fuck every bloody idiot who said we couldn’t do it!” He turned back to the others, folding his arms with a smirk. “I still don’t bloody believe it…but when Principal Perturabo hears about this, boys, I think our stars gonna be on the up.” He grinned as their cold pride continued to fester, Barbus and Varvillon sharing a small chest-bump. Only two of them hadn’t joined the revelry.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” None of them were really paying attention to Rorke to start with, but if they had been they might have noticed that for once he sounded borderline calm. The boy gave a reflexive sniff, some blood still trickling out his nose. “Listen, you bastards.” He growled, the others finally realising he was speaking. “Those shitty instruments…we shouldn’t mess around with them.” For a moment something close to realisation threatened to pass over the group, before Rorke twitched and it was gone.

“Oh, lighten up.” Zuko insisted with a chuckle, earning a dark look from his spasming cohort. “I’m actually in a good mood for once, sorry if that offends you…” He trailed off thoughtfully. “Although…what happened at the end there?” As if they’d only just remembered that something had indeed cut their performance short, the others all turned to Lorkhan. He shrugged.

“Don’t ask me. Mordecai tripped or something.” He looked at the polite boy now to elaborate further. Mordecai was, for once, the one not paying attention to them. A frown was in his face, tongue clicking as he took his hat off and ran it between his fingers. It took a few moments for him to realise he was the centre of attention.

‘Hmm? Oh…yes, apologies…it was entirely my fault, gentlemen.” He said. Mordecai had only been talking about his stumble, but it felt to the boy himself like there was something else he was apologising for and he was just unsure what it was yet. “I thought…” He looked between their faces and suspicious expressions, pursing his lips and giving a small smile. “Nothing, it’s nothing…no need to fret.”

“Whatever.” Lorkhan dismissed it surprisingly quickly with a wave of his hand. “Just don’t do it when we’re actually performing. As long as none of us fuck up, nothing can stop us now.” He announced, a malicious smirk crossing his face.

“Well, well, well.”

The feminine voice was sudden and jolting. The boys all tensed, instantly turning round and bunching up together defensively. The source of the noise came from the other end of the corridor. The three girls stood and stared at them for a moment. The blue-skinned one seemed genuinely happy to be there, the purple-skinned one the exact opposite, whilst the yellow-skinned and presumable leader of the group just smirked. Her hands rested on her waist, an amused but wary glimmer in her eye. She held Lorkhan’s angry gaze unblinking as Zuko slowly leaned in closer.

“Lorkhan.” He ‘whispered’, though it was loud enough that they could all hear. “They’re supposed to be crazy…” He looked back over at the girls, who were unmoved. “Why aren’t they crazy?”

“I have to say, that was quite the show out there.” The lead girl purred. She crossed the distance with effortless grace with her two companions in tow. Lorkhan was about the same height as her, and once again found himself angrily staring into the grinning face of a rival as he felt his previous elation fall away beneath him. “Honestly, when you first walked onto that stage, I thought you were a joke.” She confessed with a mocking giggle. “But I suppose the evidence that you’re not is back in that hall, hmm?” She smiled sweetly, before extending a delicate-looking hand towards him. “Adagio Dazzle. This is Aria Blaze, and…Sonata. A pleasure.”

Lorkhan did not take it. None of them did. Even Mordecai, usually the gentleman, held back. The sidelong glance he cast the band’s leader confirmed he felt as uncertain about this as the rest of them. Eventually Adagio lowered her hand, a slightly more hostile expression crossing her features as she began to slowly circle the group.

“Still, I suppose it wouldn’t be fair to give you all the credit now, would it?” She went on. The tension in the group increased once more, Lorkhan and Vortun sharing a look of concern. Despite how quick it was Adagio noticed. Her smile widened. “Oh, don’t feel so bad! Everyone needs an edge. We have our own,” It seemed unconscious, but Lorkhan noticed the way she fiddled with the red gem hanging round her neck. “The Rainboom’s have their ‘magic of friendship’, the Illusions have their fireworks and smoke machines, and you…well, your instruments certainly are very interesting.”

“How the hell do you know about that?” To the group’s mutual surprise it was actually Varvillon who snapped. He took a step forward, face darkening as an almost protective edge crept into his voice. Adagio chuckled and smirked at the reaction, whilst Sonata gave a giggle. As the lead Dazzling opened her mouth to reply, however, yet another voice cut her off.

“Because I told them.”

That was a voice they recognised well enough. The boys all started a little, Mordecai most of all, as the male figure drew attention to himself. His hands were clasped behind his back, and even though he smiled both it and his blue eyes were laced with ruefulness. That didn’t make his reveal less disconcerting.

“A-Ahriman?!” Even when his voice was cracking with surprise Mordecai remained well-spoken. “You…you’re working with them?” His shoulders slumped noticeably as the feeling of betrayal hit.

“You got the instruments from a shitting Prosperon?” Barbus hissed, casting him an angry look.

“I fucking knew it!” Rorke practically screamed as he shook and raised his fists belligerently. The group’s argument was cut short by Ahriman. He had raised a hand himself, and as he did a strange sensation of inactivity descended over the Olympia High band. Rorke struggled against it the longest, but soon enough even he had succumbed. Ahriman took a moment to ensure they were really listening before looking to Mordecai.

“You are right to be angry, my friend.” He apologised with a weary smile. “All I can say is that originally, it was done with the best intentions. Circumstances changed.”

“Like what, exactly?” Lorkhan’s question was voice as a snarl. Ahriman looked at him calmly, the two sharing a drawn-out silence. “You fucking set us up.” It seemed the Olympian was having trouble restraining his own temper. “You lured us into a bloody trap for-“

“I did not.” Lorkhan flinched as Ahriman’s warm and smooth voice cut him off. He shook his head to emphasise the point. “I did not set you or your band up, Lorkhan. Quite the contrary. I would very much like you to win-“

“Excuse me?” Adagio was the one who took offence now, raising an eyebrow as Ahriman looked at her. Sonata looked just as put-out, but Aria chuckled.

“The guy’s dealing in magic instruments that do…what we saw, and you’re surprised he’s swindling us?” She asked, meeting Adagio’s annoyed glare with a blank one as she finished checking her nails. “What deep insight’s coming next, fearless leader?” All of them were quiet as a snicker filled the corridor. Lorkhan and the rest of the band blinked in surprise, before slowly turning to Rorke. The boy gave an agitated shuffle.

“What?” He muttered. “It was funny.” The others just continued to stare in shock that he’d actually laughed at a joke.

“I would quite like either of you to win.” Ahriman continued as he spied his opportunity. “It doesn’t much matter to me. Both of you have the tools to do it, that is rather the point of a competition. Just make sure that the Rainbooms lose.”

“That’s hardly a challenge.” Adagio noted with a confident sneer.

“But do it anyway.” Ahriman insisted. Lorkhan took a further moment to process the information.

“Why?” The Dazzlings and the other boy looked back to him as he spoke up. “Why does it matter if they lose? They’re just a bunch of girls, what’s the big deal?” Ahriman took his time before answering that one, holding Lorkhan’s gaze unblinkingly.

“Damage control.” He said at last. “Just to be certain…nothing should go wrong.” He pursed his lips a little, the fact that he was having to implore an Olympian obviously grating at the boy’s pride. “Please just work with me on this. It is all for the good.”

Lorkhan felt the eyes of all assembled on him. They didn’t move him to speak. He grimaced instead, continuing to think. His mind wandered back to their previous infiltration of the school…that teacher. The teacher who didn’t look like a teacher; he had something to do with this. The boy just knew it. Ahriman seemed to catch on without any words needing to be spoken. He tensed, but he didn’t offer anything approaching an explanation. Finally Lorkhan capitulated with a small and frustrated growl.

“I suppose that is the best I can expect.” Ahriman allowed. He gave a small nod of thanks, before looking at Mordecai with another sorrowful expression. “I am truly sorry if I have betrayed your trust, my friend. That was never my intention.” Mordecai did not respond, his face stonier than the others had ever seen it. Ahriman at least knew when he had outstayed his welcome, and without another word he turned, the golden skinned boy swiftly walking away. Adagio and her band lingered a moment longer with the Olympians, both leaders staring at one another. They seemed equally aware that they’d just been forced into some kind of alliance neither truly understood, and equally displeased by the fact. Still, the Dazzling was the first to smirk. She turned on the balls of her feet and quickly began to leave too, Aria and Sonata trailing after her. The lead Dazzling stopped only once at the end of the corridor, to turn and blow Lorkhan a mocking kiss, before they disappeared from sight.

“Well…” Zuko mumbled, the deadpan snark re-entering his voice as he folded his arms. “There goes my good mood.”

“Oh, I’m sorry gentlemen…” Mordecai sounded genuinely remorseful – genuinely saddened – as he leaned against the wall and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand. “I’ve…I’ve rather ballsed all this up, haven’t I?”

“Why the fuck did you trust one of them?!” Barbus asked, turning to him and opening his arms out wide in disbelief. “Fucking Prospero High, how did you not think they’d have some other plan in mind?”

“I told you those instruments were fucking bullshit!” Rorke snarled, looking like he was about to hit Mordecai.

“It’s not the instrument’s fault!” Varvillon snapped back, taking a belligerent step towards Rorke. The short boy seemed surprised that any of them, let alone Varvillon, were standing up to him, but he snarled and turned to take both of them at once.

“You wanna fucking go plant b-“

“It’s not your fault, Mordecai.”

The swiftly brewing argument was cut short by Lorkhan’s surprisingly calm intervention. The boy wasn’t looking at them even as they all looked at him, his head bowed slightly. Rorke was the last to stand down, the boy shivering a little before finally expelling the tension in his muscles.

“It’s not your fault, Mord’.” Lorkhan said again, turning to the other boy. Mordecai looked back at him with a rare expression of genuine surprise. That anyone, let along Lorkhan, was standing up for him was cause for shock. “You were just trying to help. You couldn’t have known…” He grimaced, before sighing and unclenching his fists. Silence reigned as the others all looked at him.

“So…vat now?” Vortun, the least daunted, asked slowly. Lorkhan did not meet his eyes. He stared into space, taking another deep breath.

“We’ve still got a few days of school before the bloody competition.” He said at last. “Just…go home, get some rest.” Ordering them came surprisingly easily, but they didn’t look away just yet.

“…what about you?” It was Zuko who voiced what they were all thinking, traces of uncomfortable camaraderie in his voice. Lorkhan swallowed.

“Tomorrow? I’m…going to go see the Principal.”

The world had turned into a riot of sense and colour for a while. Every sensation was heightened, every feeling sharper. What had happened before the music was a blur, and what went down during the blissful peals of sound was even more unclear, but finally Snips had managed to stumble back outside.

He’d lost Snails. At some point the two of them had managed to get separated, which was unusual enough. Maybe Flash and his raging band of madmen had set upon him. Snips remembered that happening well enough. He couldn’t say that he liked Flash, a sentiment entirely born from jealousy, but the guitarist losing his damn mind had still been jarring. Still, the boy found it strange he didn’t care as much about his best friend’s fate as he knew he should.

He only stopped running when he reached the sidewalk. Closing his eyes, the little fat boy took in a deep breath, trying to clear his head with the crisp night air. The tendrils of the song still lingered in his head a moment, stroking his brain with titillating flashes of memory. He whimpered, but squeezed his eyes shut and slapped the side of his head, finally dispelling them. The sun’s dying light bathed him as it sank behind a hill, lengthening every shadow. Snips suddenly felt very tired, though it was impossible for him to say why.

It took him a moment to notice the cool feeling in his hand. Looking down, Snips realised he was holding his phone. Memory swiftly reasserted itself – he’d been filming throughout the performance. Elation surged through him and banished all weariness. He could watch it again! The song, the sound, he could experience it whenever-

Snips’s musings were cut off as something grabbed the back of his shirt and lifted. He heard the fabric begin to tear, yelping and kicking his chubby legs out in a futile attempt to escape the clutches of whatever was holding him.

Eventually, what was holding him turned Snips in its grasp to face it. It was another boy – in his dazed state, Snips must have missed hima. He was fairly wide too, but where the Canterlotian was short and fat his aggressor was tall and built with slabs of muscle. His face could not be said to be attractive, but the obvious unstableness flashing in his eyes made the blue-skinned student gulp. His captor looked at him a moment and waited for the struggling to cease, before an ugly sneer crossed his face.

“Hello, friend! My name is Merihem.” He looked down at the phone Snips still clasped onto for dear life. His grin widened in a way that made the shorter boy even more uncomfortable still.

“May I borrow this?”

Author's Notes:

In loving memory of Warhammer Fantasy.

My greatest dream was a world without Elves.