Anger issues.

Yeah, they had me pegged with that one. You always helped me keep it in control, didn’t you? It never got out of hoof. I figured out how to hold back, and a lot of that had to do with you. Looking at how things turned out after, I can’t help but wonder. Were you the only thing keeping me good all that time?

The more I think on it, the more I think so. I’ve always had a devilish streak in me. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about fudging the rules to get what I wanted, or outright breaking the law. But I never did it. I held myself back, because I knew you wouldn’t approve. The thought of disappointing you

It scared me.

Then you left.

Nothing scared me anymore.

—Cruelles Caballeron, Book of Shadows XLVIII,

December 22, 1002
Excerpt from personal diaries, translated from Palabras del Sur, June 16, 1007

Caballeron snarled with every swing of his pickaxe, the rough wood tasteless in his mouth. The hard stone flew about in small chunks, occasionally pelting his hot, sweat-streaked coat. He accepted the sting. Enjoyed it. It kept his anger boiling. He imagined her face with every downward stroke, happy to imagine it was blood covering his body instead of sweat and grit and bits of coal.

A bell sounded. Reigning in his fury, Caballeron slowed his rhythm until the strikes finally ceased. He glanced up at a cloudless sky. Noon already. Interesting how time flew when one was pretending to commit murder.

Resting the pickaxe against the wall of stone, he turned to tread the long path back to the mess hall. Though he had only an hour to eat, he didn’t hurry. Even had his legs not burned from a morning of endless labor, he felt no desire at the thought of food. The discomfort of an empty belly soothed just like anger did, distracting him from… other things.

He looked down the cliffside of the quarry, at the railcars being filled with coal to be delivered to central Equestria for distribution. He was too low to see beyond the pony-made valley, but knew that if he followed the tracks he’d end up in the endless desert that was the Burning Lands. The perfect place for a prison, really. They didn’t bother with fences or patrols. There was no need. Beyond this place lay nothing but rock and sand and mountains and lava for over a thousand miles.

To say nothing of the natives. He cast a glance at the cavernous cave set above the quarry, where sat a great yellow dragon. Kuranox, the Warden of the Firesands, her reptilian eyes ever on the prisoners placed in her ‘care.’ Could Celestia have asked for a more fitting jailer? Not for the first time, Caballeron dreamed about feeding her a few old friends. The steady stream of troublemakers did well to add some spice to her regular gem-laden meals, so it wasn’t hard to imagine their screams. It brought a pleasant smile to his lips.

He noticed the dirty, sweat-coated mare coming, but did nothing to avoid the impact. She slammed into his shoulder, knocking him closer to the sheer cliff edge. He grunted from the blow – she certainly had some muscle to her – then studied her with one eye. Light blue, mess of an orange mane, tooth missing from her smirk. A big earth pony. Big as him. More muscular, too. Still, one look was all he needed.

Without turning to her, he settled his hooves and lowered his head slightly. “I don’t know you.”

Her smirk only grew and her tail flicked. “I hear you’re the Prince of Sands.”

“Stupid name.” He listened to her chuckle. Low, hard and raspy. “You don’t want it.”

She lowered her front side and scraped at the dirt. “I think I do. It’s a long fall, huh?”

Caballeron didn’t smile. He kept loose, shifting his body in small ways in quiet preparation. He never took his eyes off her own.

A scowl replaced her smirk. It seemed his unwillingness to banter was a disappointment. Did she expect him to be braggadocious? Another simple felon looking for an easy climb up a latter not worth the destination.

Not that they ever realized that.

The mare lunged, but Caballeron was quicker. His neck swung, and the pointed tip of the pickaxe moved in a blur. He spun his hindquarters around with the movement, rotating out of the way of her clumsy attack, and she landed at his side. She didn’t even get the chance to look surprised before the axe stabbed into her shoulder from behind.

Caballeron’s hips ended their revolution by banging into hers, knocking her sideways even as she screamed. He repositions his mouth on the shaft, and with a lurch of his shoulders and neck, pulled her forward and down. Howling as her body twisted to his movement, she flipped sideways and went over the edge. He locked his legs and bit down hard on the handle; the mare’s descent jerked to a stop thanks to the pick still stuck in her shoulder.

They hung there for a few seconds, him staring down at her and her gripping the axe head in a combination of pain and fear. He kept his legs spread and taught, but could tell he wouldn't be able to hold her weight for long. The drop below was probably a good five stories, emphasized by the rocks that rained down from their brief scuffle. After a moment of pained groaning, the mare looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“H-hey,” she spoke between hissing breaths. “J-just playing, right? Wanted to see h-how good you were. You know?” With a feeble chuckle, she reached for the cliff edge. “Give a girl a break, r-right?”

He tried to get the image in his head. Golden coat. Greyscale mane. Brilliant ruby eyes.

It wouldn’t come. No matter how much he willed it, this wasn’t her.

He let go anyway. He took in her expression in that fatal moment between hope and horror. The way her smile drifted into open-mouthed shock. How her eyes, once expectant and hopeful, turned to the terror of understanding. And her face, once a pleasant blue, became pale. He watched her all he way down, letting her shriek stab into his eardrums, and tried his absolute best to imagine her with another mare’s colors and face.

Then the sound cut off. Unsatisfied, he turned to continue his walk. Those ponies who had paused to watch were quick to step out of his way.

Solitary confinement. Again. Why wouldn’t the dumb lizard just eat him and get it over with?

The room was pitch black, not even a window to tell him the time of day. That didn’t bother him much. More serious was the heat. Sweat poured from his body in waves, filling the room with a horrid stench. The floor beneath him was hard and unforgiving. As uncomfortable as it was, Caballeron couldn’t bring himself to complain. What good would it do?

Twelve more years of this. If the heat or labor or Kuranox didn’t kill him first, which seemed to be the case for most of the ponies here. But he’d survive. He could tough it out better than they could, he knew it. The only thing standing between him and his vengeance was time.

It had all happened so neatly, so quickly. One moment, he’s a prestigious archeologist just months away from his doctorate. Then the foundations crumbled, and all because of one mare. No, not a mare; a filly. To think, he’d given her a chance. He’d grown to like her. She was going to have her name etched in history one way or another, and he’d been happy to let her share the spotlight of Silty’s great discovery.

Tampering with artifacts, they’d said. Creating a false narrative, they’d declared. The evidence had mounted against him, all of it false, some of it blatantly manufactured just for his case. A journal he’d never written, telling all about how he’d planned some scheme to falsely claim the discovery of Pawtlpotl.

Now Silty’s legacy lay in ruins. Pawtlpotl would forever be known as a red herring – a fantastic find, for certain, but not what he had told everyone it was. All the tablets, all their proof, ruined in a heinous act of vandalism. And if a dozen were proven to be manipulated, how could any of the others be considered accurate? All the evidence of Pawtlpotl’s rediscovery, named worthless thanks to one overambitious filly.

Caballeron ground his hoof on the gritty floor, imagining it was Yearling’s head being mashed to a pulp. The devil in the back of his mind rubbed its claws with sadistic glee, whispering promises of blood and violence and hatred. He made no attempt to silence its velvety voice. No, he basked in it, reveled in it, looked forward to the future it would bring.

A decade. Only time.

He needed only be patient.

There came a clanking sound, which experience told him was the bar of the door being removed. He frowned towards the noise; though he had no means of telling time, it seemed far too early for them to be letting him out. He covered his eyes with a canon just before the door opened, and he still had to squint against the glare. They didn’t come rushing in to beat on him with their clubs and magic, so clearly they weren’t here to drag him back to his regular room.

“Mr. Caballeron, I presume?”

Thick voice. Masculine, but a little off. Accent gave his origins away instantly. Caballeron lowered his leg and blinked as his eyes readjusted. He couldn’t see anything beyond his visitor’s shadowy frame, but it was enough to know he was a deer.

He scowled. “I don’t know you.”

The deer chuckled. “No, I would say not.”

Re-positioning so he sat facing his guest, Caballeron asked, “What’s a tree hugger like you doing in this hellhole?”

“Straight to the point. Good.” The deer stepped aside, out of the glaring light from the door, and his features became clear. Tall and lanky, but that described all deer as far as Caballeron knew. Muscular, though. Soft face, a common trait of the species if the stories were accurate. Antlers were… well, they were antlers. Caballeron knew nothing about those, so he couldn’t say if they were unusual or not. He did notice that one of the horns had been cut off where it had been growing from the main trunk, though. Was that the right terminology? Trunk?

The deer smiled and set a cloven hoof to his chest. “And now that you have had a good look at me, know that I am Chasing-The-Green-Wind, son of Leaves-Fall-To-Earth. You may call me Chasing, if you so prefer.”

Aristocratic manner of speaking. His entire demeanor might have put Caballeron off his game, but for one thing: Chasing’s eyes revealed an analytical, focused gaze. It was not the gaze of one who goes into dangerous places like the Burning Lands unprepared. His outer shell was soft, but Caballeron suspected that when pressed Chasing would reveal a great many thorns, and that muscle surely wasn’t just for show.

With a sniff, Caballeron glanced between him and the door. No guards. They had privacy. “What are you after?”

“A pony of your skills,” Chasing replied smoothly. “I wish to hire you.”

“Not interested.” Caballeron turned away and lay down, ready to return to his brooding.

“But sir, I have not even mentioned your fee.”

Flicking his tail at the deer, Caballeron replied stoically, “You don’t have anything I want.”

“Oh, but I think I do.” A soft, yellow glow filled the room, presumably from Chasing’s horns. Dust and dirt swirled around them, only to begin coalescing before Caballron in a pile. He watched with disinterest as the pile reshaped into the distinct form of a pony roughly a hoofs’ width tall.

Then that pony gained a recognizable appearance, and his eyes widened. “Director Colarse?”

“He is the one who officially filed charges, is he not? After he too became convinced of the evidence.”

Caballeron glanced back at Chasing to take in his smirk. He thought on the director and the day he’d been confronted regarding the tampered tablets. Yet, no matter how he thought on it, he felt no anger towards the old pony. He turned away with a shrug. “The director was fooled. I won’t begrudge him that.” He swept away the sand pony with a foreleg.

“Oh? Well, that is unexpected.” The sands drifted back into place, shifting into a new form. “It takes away many of the… ‘opportunities’ I intended to offer. But that is alright. There’s really only one I need.”

There could be no questioning what was coming, but Caballeron awaited it anyway. As expected, the sands became another pony, this time a familiar filly. A perfect image of A.K. Yearling stared up at him, her smile bright and innocent. The image alone was enough to make his blood boil, but he made no move to demolish the offensive thing.

He glanced away. “I don’t want you to kill her for me.”

“Kill her? Perish the thought.” Chasing laughed pleasantly. “No, I will do nothing of the sort.”

Cocking his head, Caballeron turned to observe the deer. “Then why show her to me?”

The smile on Chasing’ face turned wicked. He looked Caballeron in the eye, and his gaze held a clear darkness. “I know your type, Mr. Caballeron. I know what stirs you. You would never wish for me, or an old acquaintance, or anyone else to go after young Miss Yearling, oh, no. You want to go out there and do it yourself.” He raised a hoof as if to offer it. “That is what I give you, sir. Freedom. You leave this pit now, instead of in a decade, and perhaps find your quarry.”

The little devil in Caballeron’s mind had suddenly developed a new interest in this deer. But Caballeron wasn’t so eager to accept that hoof, at least not yet. He sat up straight once more and peered at Chasing. “In return for what?”

“Ah, yes, the ‘what’.” Chasing lowered his hoof, and his smile softened. “I am a collector, you see. Of fine, rare antiques. It is a little hobby, you know.”

Caballeron raised an eyebrow. “You want me to steal relics?”

The smile faded, Chasing’s expression becoming one of annoyance. “Do not think me so uncivilized. I do not need a thief. I need an explorer. An archeologist with the smarts to know where to go, the resourcefulness to get there, and a hide thick enough to make it back alive.”

Ears perked as Caballeron began to make sense of this strange request. “Ah. You need a treasure hunter.”

“And a good one,” Chasing said with a nod. He pointed to the small sand statue of Yearling. “One good enough – and enthusiastic enough – to do the job before more decent-minded upstarts can.”

Caballeron glanced at the small statue, ignoring the ball of venom the sight of it created in his throat. He thought her 'decent-minded'? “Is she on some sort of mission?”

Now Chasing’s gaze had grown cold. “Your former assistant has since changed her identity, Mr. Caballeron, and taken up a new life. She travels to dangerous, mysterious places in the wild to raid infamous tombs of their valuables for museums and her own collection. She has proven quite capable in this endeavor.”

So that was why he’d come for Caballeron. He was likely the only individual in the world who had been on such dangerous adventures before. Caballeron hadn’t done that sort of thing in over a decade, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go back to that sort of life. Granted, back then he’d been doing things legally, but this sounded like something… less so.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the thought appealed to him. It certainly beat wasting away in this prison dreaming of vengeance. His old life was gone, and his reason for remaining legit lost to some foal of a carriage driver. This? This might at least make life interesting again.

But Caballeron wasn’t quite ready. “What are you up to?”

Chasing’s eyebrows rose. “Up to?”

A good act, but not near enough to dissuade. Caballeron stood and took a step closer, scrutinizing the deer. “Ancient artifacts don’t get hidden in dangerous ruins because they are covered in gold. Many of them are magical, unusual… dangerous. I’m not about to help a mad deer go from relic collecting to tyranny.”

With a cloven hoof to his chest and a gasp that almost made Caballeron roll his eyes, Chasing replied, “I had no idea! Well, if these artifacts are half as dangerous as you suggest, is it not in everyone’s best interest to get them in a safe place?”

Caballeron raised an eyebrow. “Safer than where they already are? As in the undiscovered, largely unknown deathtraps hidden beyond known civilization?”

A blink. Chasing stared at Caballeron as if seeing him for the first time. He lowered his hoof slowly… then gained a predatory smile.

“You are an even better candidate than I hoped.” He paused to rub the sweat from his forehead, but beyond that the heat didn’t seem to bother him. “Alright, so I cannot prove to you that I am not doing something nefarious with these artifacts. You cannot prove I am. So how about this?”

He thrust his hoof to the small statuette of Yearling. “She has already found two artifacts since you were imprisoned. She will find more. The foolish child does not appear to know what she is meddling with, not really. Would you rather trust in her to keep the world safe from such things?”

Caballeron cast another glance at the small Yearling. Was Chasing trying to use his anger to goad him? Oh, he certainly felt the necessary heat. Indeed, right now he wanted nothing more than to smash that pile of dust. The only reason he hadn’t was to prove his self control, although whether that was to himself or his potential employer was unclear.

He wouldn’t let this sway him. “Your suggestion is pointless. You’re asking I either trust you – whom I don’t know in any way – or trust the ponies that may take advantage of the brat. Trade and unknown with an unknown, and all things are equal in the end.”

Chasing’s smile faltered. “You are a tough negotiator.”

Caballeron stood up and straightened his shoulders, coming to his full and considerable height as he leveled a firm glare at the deer. “No, you just don’t know what makes me tick. You mistakenly believe that I have an interest in protecting this world. I don’t. The world hasn’t cared about me, so I don’t care about it.” He thrust a hoof at Chaser’s startled face. “But if you end up being a fiend who would use some ancient magical relic to grow all-powerful and start a new reign of terror, I don’t want the princess that kills you with a glance to come after the pony who gave you the opportunity afterwards.

“I want just one thing.” Only now did he lash out, his back hoof stomping Yearling’s little sand statue into oblivion. “Her. All other arguments are a waste of both our time. You let me go after her on my own terms, in my own way, to do with her as I will. All I need is the freedom and the financing.”

Chasing’s face had become stoic. “And my artifacts?”

They stared at one another for some time. Caballeron considered his situation, and the potential faults. He knew as well as anypony that legends were often based on fact, and some of the things that might be found out there could be exceptionally dangerous even if the stories were only half true. Could he risk letting this guy have such things when he had no idea what he’d do with them? Was it worth it? He glanced back at the pile of sand he’d smashed, imagining it as Yearling. Oh, but he wanted to break her neck so badly.

Another decade of waiting for the sake of his conscience, or a chance to go after her now at the risk of a world?

Chasing’s lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. “I wonder what Miss Eyes would want?”

Caballeron moved without thinking, his hoof flying for the deer’s smug face. Chasing’s antler’s shined, a yellow shield appeared—

—and shattered like glass. His eyes had barely begun to widen in shock by the time the hoof smashed into his cheek. He staggered back with a cry, raising his legs to defend himself, but Caballeron didn’t follow up the hit. He was too busy thinking about how good the violence had felt, how Silty would be shaking her head had she seen, and how the little devil in the back of his mind cackled. He snorted steam, breath coming in sharp hisses through his teeth. He tried pushing the demon back, but it danced around his mental shoves like it was made of water, taunting and teasing.

She’s dead. She’s dead. There's nothing to hold me back. All that time I acted like the good little colt. It didn’t matter at all. Silty is dead. And that bitch used her name to frame me. That rotten, flea-infested, backstabbing…

“Mr. Caballeron?”

He shifted his glare upon Chasing, who flinched back. The deer rubbed his cheek, and his eyes were wide and unsure. The mask of confidence and control had broken, and now he saw Chasing for what he was: a rich brat who always got his way. Those muscles were all for show. And now that someone had dared to teach him a lesson, he didn’t seem so bold. No, he was more like a bundle of straw waiting to break.

What would somepony like that do with the power of the Alicorn Amulet? Or the Ring of Destiny?

Does it really matter?

Another glance at the pile of sand behind him.

No. It really didn’t.

He jerked forward, and Chasing flinched. Caballeron paused his hoof’s motion a hair’s breadth from the deer’s face. He held Chasing’s gaze, channeling through his own as much of the rage boiling within as he could muster.

Chasing swallowed audibly.

“You get me the funds and the freedom,” Caballeron hissed. “You give me the means to deal with Yearling, and I’ll get you your artifacts.”

Chasing blinked, fear fading for confusion. “You… You will?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Turning for the door, Caballeron made his way out. “I trust everything is arranged for me to leave?”

“Why, yes. As a matter of fact.” Chasing chuckled nervously, slowly building to a proper laugh. “Splendid! This is going to be a wonderful partnership. Now if you would just—”

Caballeron rounded on him so fast that Chasing jumped back, his legs spreading in preparation for flight. “Let’s get this right,” Caballeron snarled. “I don’t like you. We aren’t partners, or friends, or whatever other term of endearment you intend to use to weasel your way into my good graces. We are the means to each others ends and no more. And if you ever, ever say her name out loud again, I swear to Celestia, Nightmare Moon and The Voice I’ll rip your tongue out and eat it.”

Though he did not smile, Caballeron couldn’t help but be pleased by Chasing’s shivering, wide-eyed expression.

The door’s hinges creaked as it opened. They actually creaked. That probably shouldn’t have bothered Caballeron as much as it did, and it was silly to fret over such a thing.

But still…

They creaked. They never did that when he lived here.

He stood at the threshold, body covered in a thick brown cloak. He kept his eyes set on the hinges, a spike of ice running through his chest. He’d come all this way, hoping for some commonality or familiarity or even a bit of nostalgia. And what greeted him? Creaking hinges. First thing. With his door so poorly maintained…

He shouldn’t look. Couldn’t. Looking would do him no good.

Maybe if he kept his eyes closed. He followed his own mental suggestion, and the idea immediately became easier. With a sigh, he took a step forward. When his hoof clopped on the wooden floor, however, his momentum crashed. The sound was so painfully familiar, sending echoes that shook his ribcage and pounded on his heart. He stood there, half inside, and let the pain stew inside his chest.

Somepony in the street called out. Though the yell hadn’t been for him, it shot through Caballeron like a jolt of energy, and before he knew it he’d lunged forward and slammed the door closed. He sat and pressed his back to the wood, trembling and trying to control his breathing. He remained that way for some time, letting his heart calm and his mind focus. Finally, he opened his eyes.

Dust coated everything in a thick grime. Otherwise, his old home looked the same now as it had when he’d left it. He’d expected things to be ruined by the investigation of the royal Guard all that time ago, but from this first glance? Not a single picture was out of place. Even the artifacts remained on the walls. He’d imagined they would have been stolen for certain.

His first fears and expectations left unrealized, Caballeron swiftly recovered from his anxiety. This wasn’t so bad. He might only be visiting for the night before the beginning of his new job, but the thought of staying in this place didn’t seem half as daunting now. Perhaps he could make it his permanent residence once more. The fact that it remained in his name, though completely unexpected given his two year absence, was a welcome one.

But he’d not chosen to come back for the sake of convenience. This in mind, he moved through the greeting room, then the kitchen with its cabinets unused for a seeming eternity. Would the gems in the stove still function after all this time? Onwards to the least used room in the house: the utility room, where he kept all the tools and materials necessary for regular household maintenance. A glance at the dusty yet well-stocked counters made him consider fixing those creaking hinges, but he swiftly filed the thought away upon noting the large chest in the back.

He blew on the bronze lock, sending dust flying. The big red thing was still a beauty even after a decade of doing nothing but lying forgotten in some repurposed closet. Even so, it took him only a moment to fetch the key from a nook hidden behind some hammers and screwdrivers. It slid in easily and the lock came undone. More dust particles filled the room as the lid opened, making Caballeron sneeze into his fetlock.

A visual cacophany of colors met his gaze: rugs, ornate things of red, yellow and gold. He rubbed a hoof across the first one, delighting that the thick wool remained as soft as ever. Carefully, he pulled the Zebrabwe souvenirs out and set them aside, revealing numerous boxes. He could remember the contents of each, and though he opened none of them as he put them out of his way, he fondly recalled the treasures. This one, a statuette gifted to him by an old Griffon Lord. And this, full of ancient beads belonging to a now extinct race of avians, distant cousins of the griffons. And here! A solid wooden box possessing a solid black crystal carved as the face of Princess Amore of the Crystal Empire. He knew some old collectors who would kill for that one – they'd tried once before.

And beneath it all, a long case made of polished oak. Caballeron traced his hoof over the lacquered veneer, recalling the night when he’d been gifted this item. It had been so long since he’d had to use it. He’d thought his days of adventuring were over. A ‘young colt’s’ life, set aside for a more level-headed career among students and research papers. Did he even remember how to use it?

With great care, he lifted the case. As long as he was, the thing proved tricky to get out of the small room. He brought it into the kitchen and laid it upon the table. The latches snapped open with ease, and the box opened to a velvet-lined interior. Inside lay a long, thick boomerang, painted a dark red with yellow stripes running along its two wings. The leading edge gleamed silver, a blade of cool metal embedded in the wood.

“Hello, Boomer.” Caballeron lifted the weapon, careful not to touch the sharp edge. He tested its balance with one hoof, feeling the weight of it pushing against his muscles. It was almost as long as he was. “Did you miss me? I’m sorry I kept you hidden all this time. Silty wasn’t very fond of you, y’know?”

With a satisfied sigh, he set Boomer down on the table, pushing the case aside as he did. The weapon stretched beyond the length of the furniture. Boomer seemed bigger than he recalled. Did he still have the strength to throw it properly? He’d have to get some practice in while he travelled.

A light tap of the hoof reminded him that the blade needed sharpening. Running his canon along the edge helped give him an idea of how bad the situation was; he didn’t cut himself until he’d gone halfway along Boomer’s length. “That just won’t do.”

It took a little digging to find the old whetstone and oil. They’d been under the sink, for whatever reason. But then, that was how he always handled things at home; where work was an organized arrangement, home was messy and unclear, with nothing ever put in the same place twice. The only reason the place looked so orderly now was because he’d not been living in it prior to his arrest. If he’d been at home for another day or two, though…

He wondered if Silty would have corrected that. Looking back, she’d never been the neatest individual. Perhaps that made her a stickler for a clean home? Of course, she could have been as bad at home as she was in the field, in which case this place would have looked like a disaster area. Now that he thought on it, had he ever seen her own home? The outside, yes, but the interior?

Thoughts of Silty gave him pause. He stood before the table, Boomer awaiting his tender ministrations and the whetstone held in one hoof. He gazed at the stone for a time, thinking of his beloved Marble Statue. His trophy. He could almost see her face in the hard stone.

Setting his jaw, he put the stone down next to Boomer and turned for the stairs. He strode with purpose, hooves clopping loudly as he marched to his destination on the second floor. That will faded swiftly, however, when he came to a stop at the door to the bedroom. Not giving himself a chance to hesitate, he pushed it open and strode inside, but from there his determination truly wavered.

His eyes landed on the bed. Big, but plain. Neatly folded, one would think it had never been used before. If he focused properly, he could still see her stretched languidly beneath the covers, watching him with a lazy smile. It had been one night. Just one. But oh, what a memorable one. Even now, he felt something stirring within him. Just the idea of her being here, waiting and eager and…

With a gasp, he turned away from the bed. As he did, his eyes promptly fell upon the bookshelf inlaid in the wall. The books were ignored, the artifacts forgotten, all in favor of a single small box that left his heart cold. He clutched at his chest just to make sure the hole there was all in his head. Assured that the condition wasn’t physical, he tried to relax. His body refused, of course.

Though his bones seemed to grind against one another in violent protest, Caballeron approached the innocuous box on the shelf. His trembling hoof snatched it down as if he were afraid of some repercussion to the action. With a dry throat and moist eyes, he undid the little clasp and opened the box. Within sat a familiar silver necklace, the tiny diamonds upon it shimmering even in the dim lighting of the bedroom. Caballeron could only stand to look at the thing for a few seconds before snapping the lid shut once more.

His prize attained, he walked back downstairs. Upon reaching the kitchen, he sat before the table and held the box over Boomer. Opening the box was easy this time, though he couldn’t fathom why. Carefully, he set the box down on the table’s corner, where he could easily see the necklace from where he sat before his old weapon.

And then? He just sat there. Shoulders slumped, head low. His gaze shifted from Boomer to the necklace. Boomer, his old traveling companion, seemed to smile at him in patient anticipation. But the necklace?

Silty watched him, her expression stern like stone, judging and accusing. Her eyes glistened silver like the necklace, reflecting her firm displeasure. Those eyes ate at his soul, reminding him of everything he’d agreed to. Chasing would have him go on the hunt, doing whatever it took to get things that Caballeron himself so strongly valued. And he would do it, not because he agreed with Chasing, or even trusted him, but because the pony he hated the most would be after the same thing. And when he caught up with her…

Even when he closed his eyes, Silty’s stabbed into his heart. She didn’t understand. He knew that. Silty was a good pony. Caballeron had once thought of himself as a good pony, too.

With arms feeling leaden, he pulled Boomer closer to the edge of the table, making sure the blade was over the side. Then he took the whetstone, seeming so much heavier, and began to work. He moved slowly, with the care and precision he’d thought forgotten, but it came back as naturally as breathing. He didn’t look to the ghostly apparition glaring at him from the corner. Even so, with every scrape of stone against metal, he thought he could feel something within him dying. The very sound of his actions ached.

But he kept on, jaw set and shoulders hunched. He had to do this for her, even knowing it would offend. Yearling had stolen so much from them, he couldn’t just let it be. If what he’d heard was true, that upstart was starting to become recognized as a hero. A hero, that traitorous, meddling, backstabbing wench. Silty would understand in time, she had to. This wasn’t just about revenge; this would be justice.

In the back of his mind, that little devil leered. Every brush of metal against stone weakened the lifetime of bindings Caballeron had set upon it, until it began to break the old chains one by one. It flexed its muscles with newfound energy, smirking at the stone-cold visage of Silty as it did. Had she even known about it, caballeron’s deeply hidden desires and anger? Perhaps she had. Perhaps she’d been the salve for the beast that had threatened to escape his entire life.

But now that salve was gone, and only one pony was responsible. And despite Silty’s silent-yet-ardent opposition, Caballeron was prepared to unleash it against Yearling with all its viciousness. The thought almost made him smile, but Silty’s fierce glare kept his lips in check.

For now.

The action went on, slowly, rhythmically. Caballeron took his time. The blade hissed with every motion, the only noise in the dark kitchen. The sound did little to distract him from Silty’s icy gaze or the devil’s excited giggles. But then, he didn’t want it to. Did he not deserve her scorn, deserve it for wanting his little monster freed? She wouldn’t understand. She couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her good nature stop him, nor would he allow himself to hide from her anger.

The sun no longer peeked through the windows’ blinds when he finished. Boomer’s blade was as sharp as he could get it with his simple tools. He used a hair from his tail to test it, and it sliced through it with no resistance. The devil within grinned at the sight. Silty had long ago turned her face away.

One last thing to check. Caballeron turned his attention to Boomer’s old carrying case. Inside was a simple harness, complete with some thick boots and a cavesson. He left the harness for now and took out the noseband itself, wrapping it about his head. Unlike regular, decorative nosebands, this one included a set of thick leather braces that pressed against his jowls, forcing his lips into a wide position without getting in the way of his teeth.

It was uncomfortable, but that was to be expected. He’d not worn the thing in so long, he’d have to adapt to it all over again. But in time he’d be good enough so as to not need it. With the cavesson secured, he turned back to Boomer. His eyes shifted to the necklace; the ghostly image of Silty had lost her frigidity. She now watched him with ears low and eyes containing a mix of worry and hurt.

Dropping to his knees, Caballeron gradually positioned his mouth around Boomer. He leaned forward, keeping his tongue rooted to the bottom of his mouth, until the blade pressed against the leather on his cheeks. Grunting, he stood, lifting the boomerang with little difficulty. The leather did its job, protecting his vulnerable flesh from Boomer’s deadly blade. He gave the weapon a few slow swings, cautious not to strike any of the furniture or walls as he did.

Of course, this wasn’t the proper way to hold Boomer; the blade was meant to face outward. But until he re-mastered his throws so as to always catch the blunt side Caballeron would need to be sure that the cavesson could protect him. He wouldn’t be able to test that properly until he was out in the field with space for a few throws, but for now he was satisfied with the equipment. He put Boomer back down, then took a moment to test the boots. They fit even better than he remembered, and when he sat back and lifted the boomerang with them they effectively stopped the blade from cutting into his flesh. It all came together, every piece working properly, as if they’d been patiently awaiting his return. It was almost like meeting an old friend.

His work done, Caballeron put each piece back into the carrying case. With the lid closed, he took a moment to look around his old home. The artifacts, some taken on carefully planned digs, others from a life of adventuring he’d thought long past. Compared to the things he’d now be seeking? They were mere trinkets. He’d be after bigger game, relics worth something other than knowledge of the past; items that had been hidden not because of a decaying society or invasion, but because the owners recognized them for the threat they were.

A wise pony would leave them be. Silty’s phantom all but begged him to do so. She appeared so frail now, her eyes sunken and her knees trembling. He’d never seen her so gaunt. She said not a word. She didn’t need to.

Caballeron stared back, his heart bleeding with every slow beat. She was right. Every fiber of his body, every whispy piece of his soul, declared it so. But the demon, freed from all its bindings, whispered into his ear the gentle reminder of who else was out there and what she was responsible for. And, with hooves shaking, Caballeron reached out and took the small case in his hooves. He gazed at the shiny silver necklace within for a long time.

The case snapped closed. With that, the worn apparition disappeared, and he was left alone once more.

“I’m sorry.” He set the case down on the table. “I was never the good pony you thought I was.”

Ignoring the leering devil in his mind, Caballeron placed Boomer’s carrying case on his back and left his old townhouse. He closed the door on his past and his reservations and strode into the city, ready for whatever the future had in store.