Luna was alone.

So very, very alone.

Darkness was all that she could see… If one could call it seeing.

She blinked a few times, trying to see if she could see something—some sort of formless shape would have been more welcome than the utter, all-consuming blackness.

She moved her ears back and forth, trying to find some sort of sound; something that she could latch onto, to cling to so that her sanity would have some reason to stay.

She tried to scream, but while she felt the raw, harsh feeling of air rushing past her vocal cords, she heard nothing at all. No echo rebounded off of some unseen wall.

And then she realized that she could hear something.

Her heartbeat.

Her heartbeat felt strong and steady, like it should be. Like an anchor in the world full of nothing at all.

She closed her eyes—though, there wasn’t really any need for her to do so, since she could see nothing at all in the first place—and focused with all her might on hearing the lifeblood being pumped through her veins.

She felt some of the fear fade away, and for a moment, she didn’t feel quite as alone as she did at first. Her own heartbeat tethered her sanity to her body, letting herself know that she was still alive.

And then everything was silent.

Night Rush wished, possibly for the first time in his entire life, that he were a unicorn.

Pegasi were the ballet dancers of Equestria; they could walk on clouds, they could fly, and they could kick any sort of flank that they wanted, simply because they were Pegasi.

Unicorns, on the other hand, could bend matter and energy to their will. Which included teleporting.

Which was exactly what he needed to do.

He sighed and pulled on his chains for what seemed like the billionth time that night; after he had rubbed his fetlocks raw from pulling on the chains in every imaginable direction, he had resigned himself to his fate and started trying to formulate some sort of escape plan.

After about five minutes of this, he realized exactly how hard it was to get inspired for anything in a jail cell, particularly when one is chained to the wall of said jail cell.

“Wake up, you.”

Night Rush groaned, and flinched away from the flickering orange torchlight that had recently started to illuminate his cell.

A hoof suddenly slammed itself into the side of Night Rush’s face, tearing him into consciousness with what he thought at first was a broken cheekbone. “What the hay?!” He shouted with a small spray of blood flying from his lips from the force of his response. He reflexively tugged at his bonds, trying to put some distance in between himself and the ridiculously huge pony standing in front of him. “Shouldn’t this be, y’know… the sheriff’s job?!”

The huge, brownish-red pony ignored him. “I told you to wake up. Now come with me; it’s time.”

Night Rush rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’d love to, cupcake, but as you may’ve noticed, I'm a little tied up at the mo—“

The burly burgundy pony slammed another hoof into Night Rush’s face, this time using it to pin his face against the cold stone wall behind him. Night Rush swore he could hear something crack; whether it was the wall or something in his head, he didn’t know.

“You disgust me,” the burgundy pony growled in Night Rush’s ear, moistening the fur next to his it. He moved back and started fiddling with the locks on the chains.

“And you need a little more frosting to cover your ugly flank, what say you—?” Night Rush managed to duck his head to avoid the blow this time, but the brownish-red pony was none too polite or gentle about unlocking his chains.

“Come with me,” the brownish-red pony grunted, making a slow about-face and walking out of the cell.

“Yes, ma’am,” quipped Night Rush, more to himself and anypony particular.

Night Rush kept absentmindedly licking the inside of his cheek while he walked; one of the blows from the burgundy pony had cut it, and there was a small trickle of blood still flowing out of it. The corridors of the prison were fairly straightforward; there was one large, main hallway from which many smaller, narrower corridors that had prison cells dotted along their length. For a town of its size, Night Rush was mildly surprised at how large the entire building was. He assumed that quite a bit of it was underground, since the main corridor sloped upward slightly. Near the large double doors, which Night Rush could see slivers of daylight in between the cracks of, was a small lobby with a few chairs and what looked to be a receptionist’s desk. Or perhaps it’s where the sheriff does his thing, Night Rush thought. There were a few potted plants here and there, but no windows; the only thing that gave off light was the torches hanging on the walls. He wondered how the plants were even alive, if they couldn’t get any sunlight. He wasn’t exactly an Earth pony, but he still knew how to grow a plant.

Night Rush batted his eyes and waved a hoof at the two guards standing just inside the front doors of the prison. Their body language didn’t seem to change, but he could tell that their faces stiffened with annoyance. I’ll bet I'm the first prisoner they’ve had in a while, he thought bemusedly.

Night Rush blinked blearily at the blinding sunlight as he walked out the front doors, still led by the burgundy pony. Huh. The storm must’ve passed by overnight… Night Rush thought. A small crowd had gathered in front of the jail; harsh-looking ponies, mostly of earthy colors such as brown and orange, stared at him with a mixture of fear and accusation. “I didn’t your name, dearie; I’d like to know it before I get my neck stretched,” Night Rush asked the burgundy pony, trying to ignore the crowd; he had never liked being the center of attention.

The burgundy pony laughed heartily, the muscles of his chest rippling. “You think we’d let you go that easily, don’t you?”

Night Rush batted his eyes innocently. “What, something worse than hanging for little old me? Oh, perish the thought!” He put a hoof to his forehead dramatically. Somepony in the crowd spat disgustingly.

The burgundy pony addressed him: “My name is Bigot. I will be your judge. These kind people will be your jury. And, should you be found guilty, I will be your executioner. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Night Rush said, fighting a grin.

“Now, as the first order or business—“

“My, my—I cut off your supplies for one measly week, and you’re already reverting to cannibalism! Tsk-tsk, I had thought better of you ponies,” a voice echoed around them, causing the crowd to gasp and hunker down, trying to find the source of the voice. It was a deep, gleeful voice, similar to the ones that Saturday morning cartoon villains had.

Bigot shot a menacing glare at Night Rush. “You filthy witch! How’re you doing that?!”

"Cannibalism?" Night Rush raised an unconcerned eyebrow at Bigot. “And I thought witches were female?”

“Now, now—let’s not get ahead of ourselves, here. You’ve yet to explain to me why you’re eating this young colt here. Did he do something… wrong?” The voice asked gleefully, punctuating his sentence with a harsh cackle.

“Yes! He… you… whatever! ... Have been destroying this town for weeks, you’ve corrupted our water supply, and you’ve caused a building to collapse onto a pony, killing her!” Bigot shouted at thin air. “You’ve got to answer for your crimes!”

Night Rush suddenly felt himself be lifted up off the ground by something. He tried to yelp, but the force with which he was lifted knocked the wind out of him and he simply lay on his side, wheezing, for a few moments. When he was able to breathe properly again, he looked down at what he had been placed on: a checkered cloth over what seemed to be a round, wooden table about six feet in diameter. Goblets, silverware, and plates appeared before his eyes with soft pops.

Night Rush scrambled to his hooves, taking a quick moment to survey the chaos that was quickly unfolding right before his eyes. The crowd that had gathered for his ‘trial’ was in complete disarray: ponies were scattering in all directions trying to get under some sort of shelter, trampling over each other in the process, and Night Rush could hear the voice—he assumed that it was Tricoseri—laughing maniacally in the background of the bedlam.

With a burst of speed that would have made Rainbow Dash proud, he jumped into the air and pumped his wings three times in a row, quickly gaining enough altitude to soar over the roofs of the small log houses.

“Running away, are we? My, that doesn’t seem very heroic of you...” Tricoseri’s voice sneered in his ear. Night Rush whirled around, looking for the source of the voice while hovering in place.

“Where are you?” Demanded Night Rush, somewhat annoyed that he had been followed without noticing.

“Right here,” the voice called, this time from a ways behind him. Night Rush whirled around again, only to be greeted with a cloud.

Night Rush raised an eyebrow. “A cloud? Ooh, I'm scared now,” he scoffed.

The cloud twitched slightly, and rotated to reveal a scowling face that had seemed to be drawn on it with a crayon. “You should be,” the face growled in Tricoseri’s voice.

Next Chapter: Chapter 6 Estimated time remaining: 21 Minutes