They trotted down the dimly lit corridor and already Whole Trade was preparing himself for the rudimentary introductory speech. It was practically the only thing his ‘guide’ said while he delivered his goods to the city. This time Trade had been a little smarter about the whole thing—downing a substantial amount of hard alcohol before entering the small tucked away entrance to the Empire. Maybe that was why he was close to tripping over his own hooves as he trailed after the King; maybe that and the fact that nearly the only source of light in the place was the eerie glow from the unblinking eyes of the dark stallion in the deep red cape.

“You will speak to no one and you will remain with your cart as my servants check over its contents,” the King of the Crystal Empire told him, oddly enthused given that he’d made close to the same speech on the last day of every month for close to three years. “You will wait and you will be paid only when everything is accounted for.”

Trade could see the light at the end of the thin corridor and again all those questions came to him. Like why the King always ordered fewer dessert portions than earlier appetizers or entrees? Or why his goods were always requested on the last day of each month? Perhaps the higher-ups in this weird Empire had to watch their figure, so fatty pastries and lavish parties every week were simply out of the question. Although when have I ever even seen a fat pony in the Empire? he wondered earnestly.

The steady squeak of worn wheels dragged behind the pair. Trade was reminded of the thin ‘servant’ bringing along his cart and belongings. He’d had the same steady job for three years running and still couldn’t quite get over the sight of each ‘Crystal’ pony—glimmering coats that almost looked like specks of woven-in silver. Wouldn’t the rest of Equestria find them fascinating…

“This is where I leave you.”

The King came to a stop at the new entryway and Trade almost smashed into his caped hindquarters due to daydreaming. Trade stifled a chuckle. That would have made for an interesting conversation.

King Sombra came closer to him, slowly glancing him over. “If anyone should ask, you will not say a word about the outside world. Nothing exists there. This is home for my subjects. Wait until they’ve done their count and receive your pay. Then leave.”

Trade held back an acidy burp. “Yeah… got it. Same as always.” The stoic stallion swayed back and forth in his vision. Maybe he was getting too attached to strong drinks, he wondered. But maybe they were necessary when dealing with weirdoes that called themselves ‘Kings’ of made-up lost Empires.

“Good.”

Sombra showed him his back and went down another dark hallway. The servant behind him pushed the cart through to the next room and Trade glared at the little waiting chair that had been set up for him in the corner. Although there wasn’t a lot to go through on the itinerary, Sombra’s servants went through each and every crumb of supplies as though their lives depended on it. That meant possibly three to four hours of sitting and pacing and probably sitting again.

But Trade wasn’t planning on that today. Not after what he’d discovered three or four trips ago. It was so good! he exclaimed within, already chewing his tongue from the simple memory of it. He better have more! He must have more!

On the edge of his seat he lingered as two servants carefully undid the first rope that held the tarp covering his cart. It took close to forty seconds to undo a single one, and by then Trade had already made up his mind.

He blissfully told himself, What King Sombra doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?

An orange aura wrapped around the rock and pulled it loose from the rest. For a moment it wavered in the air, dipping in places, until she increased her focus and eventually brought it down to the bucket to sit with the rest. Not bad, she told herself. Let’s try a bigger—

“You shouldn’t be doing that.”

A lower voice from behind her.

The unicorn hitched in a breath before turning, already lowering her eyes.

“You could get in trouble if anyone caught you.”

Her trepidation fell away as she noted in was only another worker speaking to her. A pegasus, a few years older than her. And hadn’t she seen him around the mine recently? Hadn’t she caught him staring at her a few—

“You still with me?”

She pulled away from her thoughts and watched as a thin smile touched his worn face. He studied her with amusement.

“I’m…” she started, “still getting used to all this. It’s only my fourth day, and it’s already getting pretty repetitive.”

The pegasus nodded. “Afraid that’s just how it is while digging. You dig. And then you dig. And if you find something, then you bring it to the boss and then you get to more digging. I’ve been here for years and it doesn’t get any better, sorry to say. But that doesn’t mean you can use magic to speed things along. You know it’s banned, same as flying. You know what happens if they catch you.” He spun around in a mocking gesture, both eyes bugging out a bit. “Or if Patience and Grace catch you!”

She pursed her lips. “I wish you wouldn’t joke about that.”

“Then I wouldn’t try using magic out in the open.”

She viewed him for a moment—a slight smirk hung on a single side of his face, while the rest of him only looked dour and sullen. He was trying to put up a brave front but inside he must have felt the same as them all. She finally viewed his motionless wings. “Haven’t you ever wanted to fly with those?”

The pegasus unfurled his wings and stared at them blankly. “I… hover sometimes,” he said, a little abashed.

“I mean actually fly,” she said. “Like up in the clouds and not just floating around the house out of sight.”

“Of course I do,” he said, noticeably crestfallen. “But those are dreams. And you and I live in a very harsh reality at the moment. But things may change. Things might get better.”

Now it was her turn to smirk. “Are you going to be the one to change them then?”

The pegasus scooped up a pickaxe near her bucket and chipped a large rock off the curving wall. He did so with precision, obviously from the years spent on the job. “I might. You never know,” he finally said. “What’s your name by the way?”

She paused to stir a hoof around in her rock bucket, her cheeks rising with color. “Fortune,” she mumbled.

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Yes. Just Fortune.”

“Does Fortune favor the brave?”

She glared at him. “What? Are you making a joke out of my name?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s fine. Short and sweet and all that. It’s only ironic. Like your parents must have forgotten where they were living when they thought of it.”

Her cheeks grew warmer. “Then you are joking about it. What’s your name, then?”

“Dexter,” he said without pause.

“That’s the most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard for a pony,” she shot back. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

He swung down on the rock, breaking away another large chunk. “It’s short for Dexterous Flight. My parents must have hated me as well, picking words out of a hat to piece me together. So I just go by Dexter.”

“Okay,” she said weakly. She started on the wall next to his, her own strikes with the axe barely making much of an impact. She tried for a new line of conversation, already feeling bad about jabbing him about the name. “I hear a lot of accidents happen in the mine.”

“They do,” he grunted in-between swings. “But you can’t always believe everything you hear. Ponies like to embellish things from time to time. What else they gonna talk about?” He stopped for a moment to collect his latest finds. “You aren’t bad with your horn. Someone been teaching you to levitate things?”

“No, not really. I just concentrate and figure it out from there. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“Then I guess you’re just a natural,” he said, picking up his loaded bucket. “Too bad you can’t use it for much, though. Stay outta trouble now.”

He turned and trotted away, down another long rock tunnel that crisscrossed into hundreds more. She had wanted to say something else—anything else—to the only pony that had actually spoken to her since arriving at the mine, but words seemed to have solidified in her mouth.

For the rest of the day she would wonder just what notions lay under those two beaming eyes of his.

King Sombra pushed open the double doors to his wide study and immediately went to the overhanging ledge that jutted out from the Empire tower. His elaborate throne was already waiting, as was the small table placed by its side. With less grace than he was used to, he fell into his chair and took a few deep inhales of air.

Only a few seconds later did his assistant come out to set his steaming cup of clear liquid next to him.

“Thank you,” he told her.

The mare only bowed with a single leg and left the King alone on his ledge. She had never been one for words but she did her job better than most. Perhaps that’s why she had lasted so much longer than the rest.

Although Sombra had always hated the notion of allowing others to view him in a weaker light, his assistant could hardly be counted for. She was the closest thing to him and if she needed to be done away with it would be of little consequence to him. And there’s always leverage if necessary, he thought tiredly.

He brought the steamy cup under his nose and sniffed at its harsh vapors. Inside the glass was a strong alcohol that he had commissioned inside the castle by a pair of unicorns. Although the King had never tasted a single sip of its contents, he found the acidity of the liquid to clear away any cobwebs that might reside deep within his senses.

“How does my Empire fair today?” he asked his miles of city, his thousands of subjects.

Since his change hundreds of years ago, Sombra had lost what little cravings still laid claim to the rest of the world. He never yearned for food nor drink, and even when he felt tired to the bone, complete sleep would always elude him. He could rest, yes, but what gave him his strength was something more—something much harder to come by. Tonight he would find his strength again. At dinner with his subjects he would be renewed, just as always. But for now he would be content with the simple taste of his city.

He brought the warm alcohol to his snout again and breathed deep.

The Empire had always smelled of fear. Fear and misery and sorrow and so much more.

Sombra drank what delicate tastes swam in the midday air and felt a modicum more aware. At least now he could follow the few that needed to be followed. The last few survivors of his dinners; a few more unsavory types allowed to live and breathe in his Empire; and now someone new. That trades-pony that brought him such rare treats from outside his city.

With enough focus and control he could follow them all to a degree. Try and watch anymore than that and he would become too stretched for much justifiable coherence.

So resting comfortably on his lush seat and breathing in the very essence of his Empire, King Sombra viewed for miles around and honestly wondered who might be watching him as he sat.

Because he’d love to stare back.

Whole Trade had honestly been surprised when he managed to travel to the dungy cellar that acted as the Empire’s go-to place for dark secrets and liquid spirits without missing a step. As he first opened those dusty catacomb-like doors and then set hoof into the gloom, his only thoughts were of, One left and two rights, in a never-ending loop.

The first time he had made the journey he had gotten lost and backtracked for close to twenty minutes before he smelled that sweet and sour odor of rotten wood and robust alcohols. Today he had found the place without pause, all while his head swam in a sea of its own.

You only drink because of Mr. Tall, dark, and scary, he told himself, in the hope of believing such a thing. He gives you the creeps, so you drink before coming here!

In his head it made sense. But then he was forgoing all those other excuses when he’d be tempted to indulge in more and more strong libations. Like when Trade was feeling down or delighted, or when business was going well or when it wasn’t, or when a mare caught his fancy or could barely give him the time of day. It seemed as thought there would always be reason to drink, especially now that he’d—

Creek!

A brown Earth stallion sitting at a table in the corner slid a chair out across from him. There had to be close to three dozen others in the wide room, creating a steady ambiance of sharp laughter along with lulled conversation. Each sat at a table or at a hastily made bar, hooves on drinks and expressions seeming to exclaim that drinking was indeed necessary in the jolly ol’ Crystal Empire.

Trade had tried their bootleg mead before, as well as their hard apple cider. Considering he’d had better drinks at roadside stops that couldn’t spell “SPIRITS” correctly, he had avoided these soon after. What he was after today was of a completely different variety. And as far as he knew there was only one pony in all the land that carried such a concoction. If one had the bits to pay for it.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Trade said as he slid into his seat opposite the stallion.

The pony in question actually wasn’t much of what he’d just claimed, with deep bags drooping from both eyes and a jaw rigged enough to break rock. On the rare occasions they had met in the past, he had always appeared tired and grumpy, although Trade had always believed a smarter mind might be hidden somewhere beneath.

Trade noted the cup of mead in the stallion’s hoof. “Don’t you find that a little tame for your tastes?”

The stallion regarded him dryly. “I’m working my way up. I’ll probably be here all day.”

Trade nodded along as if that actually interested him. “So… did you get some more?”

“I always have some,” the stallion answered bluntly. He scooted down in his seat and Trade heard something scrape across the floor towards him. “Do you have what I need?”

Trade raised his chin at the question. “I’m a trades-pony. I always have what ponies need.” From his saddlebag he lifted out two wrapped parcels, one far bigger than the other. He slid both over to him.

The stallion felt the contents of the smaller one—the one containing a small hill of bits—before opening a small section of the other and glimpsing in. He nodded absently and tucked them both away.

Trade, meanwhile, had already brought the small jug of clear liquid from under the table and was busily trying to remove its embedded cork. When it came off with a pop! he then eagerly grabbed an empty glass from a nearby group. With deft precision he poured a generous amount into the cup, before hovering his nose above the sharp liquid.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked the stallion, a new smile warming his face.

“You can,” he said, “but it doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.”

“Okay then!” Trade continued to hold onto his grin. “What’s your name? We’ve met a few times now, and now I want to know.” With two durable hooves he brought the clear alcohol to his muzzle, taking a small pull before sloshing it around in his mouth. Finally he gulped it back and instantly felt that warmth in his stomach that only seemed to spread wonderfully from there.

“Most ponies call me Tips,” the stallion eventually said.

“Is that your real name?”

“Most ponies call me Tips,” he repeated. He downed half his drink and ran a hoof over his mouth. “I don’t bother correcting them.”

Trade nodded and drank. He pointed at his upraised glass. “What do you call this again?”

“Fire water.”

“And how do you make it?”

“I don’t.”

“Then where do you get it from?”

Tips closed his eyes for a moment and found his cup again, finishing the rest. “I go to sleep at night and dream of nothing but lush mares and when I wake up it’s magically under my pillow. That’s the best answer you’re going to get from me.”

Trade’s face swiftly felt a lot warmer than when he first entered the dreary cellar. “We’re such good friends, you and I. Let’s have a drinking contest! Who can handle the most shots of your fire water!”

Tips only crossed both forelegs and sighed. “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be getting to?”

“I got time, Tips,” he answered emphatically, “plenty of time. And whoever wins our little game—” He pulled out a small coin purse from his bag to set next to his drink. “—gets more bits!”

“And if you win?” Tips asked thickly.

Trade rubbed both hooves along the sides of his glass. “Then you throw in another container of this wonderful creation.”

Methodically, Tips downed the last few remaining drops of his mead before cleaning his cup.

For the slightest of moments he was scared, as something foreign slowly made its way closer to his face. Then it touched his lips and angled itself, letting loose a small river of bitter liquid down his throat and into his swimming belly. Trade had almost completely forgotten what he was in the midst of. He had almost forgotten he had an opponent to vanquish! With loose hooves he brought his empty glass down and viewed his drinking buddy, who besides from waving a little in his vision looked nearly identical from when he first sat down with him.

“Give up?” Trade asked the still stallion, his words tumbling into one another like a pack of ponies on roller-skates. “I won’t think any differently of you, you know.”

Tips only finished the sliver of liquid in his glass, before setting in down. He raised both brows in a questioning manner.

Trade’s stomach bubbled angrily. I need to stall for a moment, he reluctantly thought.

“Can I ask you another question?” he said.

“You can try,” Tips told him.

Trade circled his empty glass with a hoof. “Why do you only want half payment in bits, and the other half in food?”

“Because sometimes bits don’t go too far in the Empire; sometimes straight food is better.” Tips propped open his little food bag and took a bite from an apple. He seemed to chew without much enjoyment. “Let me ask you a question now. Are you genuinely afraid of Queenie?”

“Who’s Queenie?”

“Sombra. I don’t call him King, since I never voted for him.”

“There’s voting here?” Trade was honestly surprised. “Really?”

Tips shook his head. “Only for lower ranking bosses. Not many want a position like that, not when it means the pony directly above you ends up being Queenie. From what I can tell he doesn’t take bad news all too well.” He paused. “But the question still remains: you scared of him?”

Trade frowned at such a notion. “Nah. He’s just a little bizarre, is all. Clearly he has some kind of complex he’s dealing with.”

“Is that so?”

“It is so,” Trade said sternly. Feeling a bit better he scooted the clear jug towards him and poured himself another. He hardly even tasted its harsh aroma as it stung the back of his throat and cleared his sinuses. Only a moment later did his stomach disagree, as he felt a bit of his breakfast try and make a return visit. “Oh Celestia…” he moaned, before anxiously belching up something rancid.

“What’s a Celestia?” Tips asked, already securing his latest glass. “Is that a new curse word I don’t know about?”

What? Really? Trade’s mushy thoughts reflected. He can’t be that daft, can he?

“No. It’s not a curse word. You know, Celestia,” he said earnestly. “Princess Celestia.”

Tips gingerly sipped his drink. “I don’t read fairytales.”

“What? No. Princess Celestia! Controller of the sun and older sister to Princess Luna, controller of the moon! Come on! You’re not that backwards here, are you?”

Tips appeared uninterested. “I don’t read science fiction, either.”

He can’t be serious, his swimming brain decreed. He just can’t be!

“What is it you think is beyond those walls that surround your city?” Trade asked, a little louder than necessary.

“Death and decay—more so than what’s already inside the Empire. That’s what we’ve been told time and again. It’s all most seem to believe.”

Whole Trade could only shake his head at such an oddity. He should have stopped coming to this place long ago. The coin was good, as well as the liquid courage that could be found deep within its grounds, but this whole place reeked of despair. Closed off from the rest of Equestria and forced to kneel to a self-proclaimed King all while lies ran rampant in the heads of each citizen. Was that why Trade started to drink as much as he did? At least it would add another excuse to his ever expanding arsenal.

He came away from his own musings to find Tips leaning forward in his chair, an odd amount of contemplation on his brows. He spoke much softer than before.

“These… Princesses that control the sun and the moon…” he said, carefully pondering each word.

“Celestia and Luna.”

“Sure, whatever.” Tips thought for a moment. “Say they actually existed. Do you believe they’d be any sort of match for Queenie?”

Trade balked at such a question. “Of course! They’re alicorns! They can destroy anything!”

Another confused expression found him. “Alicorn?”

Trade rolled his eyes and contemplated checking his friend’s head for cranial damage. “Really? That too? It means they have wings and a horn and like… life forever or something. There’s only the two of them.”

Tips steadily sank back into his chair; that small glimmer in each eye flickering from sight. Although he wasn’t the type to smile at anything at all, Trade thought his expression turned even sourer than before. “Now you’re just making things up,” he said gruffly. “Now you’re just pulling my leg. I was dumb to think about things like that—powerful Princesses beyond the walls that could possibly take a shot at Queenie. I think it’s cruel of you to raise hopes, Whole Trade. Or is it Whole Cloth? I can’t seem to remember now.”

Tips roughly pulled another small jug from a seat beside him to set angrily on the table. He slid it over to him.

“You must be thirsty from all your fable telling,” he continued, not exactly meeting Trade’s eyes. “You win. But there will be no more business between us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go sleep for a spell, possibly dream about something more attainable than Princesses that control the time of day.”

Without another word Tips trotted out from the room, loaded saddlebag bouncing against his sides. Trade watched him go and couldn’t completely understand how he’d gotten to such a spot. Minutely saddened that he’d just lost his friend—and more importantly his only access to the finest hard alcohol he’d ever come across—he then remembered about the fresh jug of spirits that had only moments ago been rudely hoofed over to him.

With mind and body still numb to the ramifications of what had just happened, Trade left the dingy cellar with a fresh smile upon his face. Maybe this’ll be the last time I come here, he genuinely thought. This place is just too weird and too depressing, no matter the booze.

On that regard he would be correct.

Leagues and leagues away from the city, Trade already felt a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders, as his head steadily swayed from side to side, watching as the only thin and narrow road he trotted along blurred in his vision. His hooves nonetheless marched him onward—they knew how to walk, they’d been doing it awhile.

“No more… Sombra…” he mumbled to himself in a singsong fashion. “No more… Empire full of Equestria rejects… oh no, no, no.”

After his short altercation with his only connection in the city, Trade took his winnings and came back to find his cart emptied of supplies and payment awaiting his arrival. No ponies wished him goodbye. Including Sombra. Which he was more than thankful for. Hurriedly binding the cart to his back, Trade didn’t bother to say his farewells. Back down the black hallways that twisted and turned, he found the only doorway out of the Empire and shut the door behind him.

Hours later and Trade had already explored the contents of his second jug of fire water. Why not? he thought. He’d both survived another day in the oddest place in the land and lost his highest paying job in the same stroke. Why not celebrate while also drowning away any such sorrows that might nip at his alcohol-fueled brain? Tomorrow he could worry about food and hangovers and major life decisions. Tomorrow he could think to himself just how silly it was to be scared of a stallion that dressed like it was Nightmare Night everyday of the year. Tomorrow he could—

With thoughts like these ruminating in his softened head, Trade could barely notice the small wooden chest sitting directly in the center of the road—his lantern atop his cart scarcely illuminating its top in the miles of darkness abound.

Thunk!

Trade’s left foreleg came down and landed on something much higher than the ground. His other foreleg then tried to readjust, only to stumble and send him face first into the dirt. The cart behind him bumped his rump before coming to a halt, leaving a narrow bruise next to his cutie-mark.

“Owwww!” he called, his pride more in pain than his hindquarters or face.

He pushed himself up and heard the oddest of noises from below; the tinkling of dozens of small slivers of metal, grinding and shifting as he rose. But didn’t that sound a lot like—

“No way!”

Whole Trade’s original pain cleared out from his system as he backed away from the overturned chest, its contents of hundreds of multicolored bits and coins shimmering from the high held lantern on his cart.

Trade shut his dreary eyes until spots swam in his vision. He reminded himself he was drunk—very drunk. So such visions as miraculous as chests of bits being left in the middle of the road could very well be only an illusion. But when he opened his eyes, there they remained. Real. Concrete. Coin. With miles of darkness around and the only place of much worth in the vicinity being the tucked away Empire of Gloominess, who else was there to collect such rare finds?

“One door closes while another one opens,” he said to his sparkling bits, as he refilled his newly found chest with glee.

He moved with such haste his bleary mind hardly comprehended the change of light reflected off the bits, traveling upward and then quickly down, followed by the sharp sound of breaking glass and devouring flames.

Whoosh!

While the sudden noise and increase of light pulled at Trade’s senses in the smallest of degrees (small hills of bits have a tendency to grab at one’s most urgent attention), the growing heat against his hindlegs and back then demanded to be recognized.

“Owww! Owww!”

Trade pulled away from his cart, bringing the overwhelming wall of heat right behind him. A tiny thread of awareness took hold, as he eventually undid the buckle tying him to his cart before giving it a hard kick away. With tears prominent in the corners of both eyes, he watched his livelihood erupt into a giant ball of dancing reds and yellows, horrifically consuming all it could touch. The supplies he had packed for himself; the payment from the Empire; the maps and books and photos and whatever else he had packed for himself to pass the time on this long and boring road. All gone. All blackened and torched in an instant.

“No…” he moaned in the stillness of the night. “It’s not fair… it’s…”

My lantern has never hovered over my cart, a moment of clarity told him. If it fell, it should have hit the ground and nothing more. Why did it…

Deep in thought, Trade couldn’t be bothered to notice the blackened smoke rising up from the dirt to wrap around a single hind leg. Once it had found nearly half of the limb, it solidified into jet black crystal that then latched to his flesh. This he felt fleetingly. When the hardened crystal forcefully twisted in one direction, cracking thin bone and slicing through skin, Trade finally took complete and utter notice of the anomaly.

For the second time in only a few minutes, Trade forcefully careened into the ground, screaming as he went before screaming some more into the dirt that now speckled his face. The area around his muzzle hurt something fierce, but the pain in his newly aligned leg called for every ounce of his attention—and voice—as he continued to howl into the ground.

Suddenly he was thinking a whole lot clearer than before.

“Good evening, barterer.”

A low and smooth voice spoke near his burning travel cart.

No! No! Please oh please no! Trade’s mind yelled while his cries tapered down to mild whimpers.

Slowly he pried open his watery eyes to find the King of the Crystal Empire sitting in front of him on the road. In a relaxed pose he crossed both of his forelegs while his red and green eyes cut along the darkness with ease. Clear investment was evident by his expression.

In front of him was the chest he’d tripped over mere moments ago, its contents carefully loaded back in.

“You left in such a hurry,” Sombra said, a hint of mock sadness in his speech. “We still had things to discuss. We still had business to attend to.”

Trade jerked his head below him to stare at the mangled remains of his leg. The severe amount of hard alcohol in his system went up a few degrees as he felt close to vomiting.

He shuttered as he spoke. “No. No! We were done! You got what you wanted and I got paid! Same as always! Same as always!”

A hint of something hard entered Sombra’s face. “Not quite, I’m afraid. There is one last transaction that needs to occur between the pair of us. I no longer need anything from you, but you now need something from me. And now I want you to buy it.”

Trade could taste bits of dirt on his tongue as he harshly sucked in more of the dirty path. “What? What do you want me to buy?”

Sombra leaned in close, the expanding flames from the hollowed-out cart shimmering in his piercing glare. “Your life. I want you to buy your life back from me.”

Trade hitched in a breath as something inside tempted to leap out. “No. No! Please! I lost everything already—”

“But you found something else, didn’t you?” the King cut in. He pushed over the chest of bits, opening its lid near Trade’s jittering face. “Buy your life back with these.”

Trade’s eyes grew wide as he viewed the small mound of small metals and then the dark stallion, over and again.

“Go on.”

Slowly Trade toppled over the small chest and emptied its contents to the ground. With a hard shove he pushed as much as he could grab towards the King.

A thin smile touched Sombra’s lips. “Better.”

He pushed over a second hooful.

“Oh come now, barterer. Your life’s worth more than that.”

Using both hooves, Trade shoved the rest of the dusty bits towards him, hoping to never see anything close to currency in his life again.

“Good. You’ve done well,” Sombra said evenly. “I will not kill you this evening. You have bought that for yourself. But that doesn’t mean you will not still die tonight.”

Trade watched the King get to his hooves as a cold lump formed in his belly; the immense pain in his twisted leg momentarily forgotten.

Sombra viewed the miles of darkness surrounding the path. “Did you know timberwolves have been known to travel around these parts? I have had many years to spend studying them, and they are indeed fascinating. If there is fresh blood in the air, they’ll search for it like no other predator. And if one were to know their distinct call, they could bring a whole pack right to them.” His glowing eyes found the trembling pony below. “Normal ponies lack the vocal chords to accomplish such a task. But I’ve never considered myself normal.”

The King arched his head back and yelled into the night—an elongated cry that echoed far off into the distance. A moment later a second call met his, before a third responded much further away.

Sombra looked upon him with wrath in both eyes.

“You were to bring only a single thing into my kingdom, barterer. But you were foolish and did not follow my rules. You brought hope into my Empire—something that has no place there. Since I am not as cruel as you, I will offer you no such hope during the rest of your night. You will be torn to shreds and your very existence will be cleansed from the land. This city will remain my city and anymore talk of Princesses and alicorns will only be greeted with harsh retribution. The Empire does not need the services of other immortal beings… and no longer does it need yours.”

Sombra disappeared in a blanket of dark smoke, leaving the broken pony with one last question to ponder: abandon hope now or wait for the wolves to come find him.

The rest of Equestria never felt so distant as then.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: Damages Estimated time remaining: 15 Minutes