Author's Notes:

So here is the sequel of 'Knight to B4', and I cannot stress how important it is to read the first story of the series in order to understand the world this is set in. In short: Anthro ponies are tastefully nudists. No rude or explicit material will be described in this story-- Cover art aids in pony structure, but they are typically naked so this picture suffices...

Also it is really, really hard to find 'Safe' rated anthro pics for MLP, especially ones with a natural blase attitude to being naked and with having a three digit hand. Seriously... this adorable little number was like a finding out the needle was crooked in that filthy haystack.

As always, please comment and like if you favourite. Feedback is always welcomed. And now back to the story...

The only thing left to fill the space of the now barren walls of Ser Vincent’s old room was a stifling silence and specks of airborne dust. He stood in the centre simply listening to nothing. He tuned out the specialised crew that carried the last of his alchemy supplies and equipment away, his gloved hand flexing.

He felt a lot of things inside; layers of armour pressed tightly to his form, his breath condensing in the muzzle space of his mask, and he felt the familiar sharp pressure between his middle finger and the ring finger, where the pony glove split his human fingers into pairs. These were external sensations and if he focused on these things he could quell the harrowing inner storm. A good calming exercise for one who needed a level head: identify what is and what wasn’t important right now.

He was to be stationed in Ponyville in order to maximise response time and to protect Princess Twilight Sparkle. That was his mission. The fact that the princess was the Element of Magic and was more than capable of defending herself was to be, for duty’s sake, deemed irrelevant. Even most of Princess Celestia’s guard held similar thoughts of their charge up until the wedding incident. He had a job and he had to do it.

His gloved fist tightened.

His sense of solitude had been thrown into disarray, and he deemed personal feelings insignificant. He preferred his own company or a small company of his choosing, i.e. those he trusted for one reason or another. He had far more acquaintances he could refer to if he was so in need. Nopony to stare, nopony to gawk, nopony to fret or fear him for what he was because he was away from the world, here, in his private sanctuary.

A long sigh escaped him, breaking the thick silence.

Now? Solitude would turn to isolation. His friends, what few he could count on actual pony hands, would be miles away. The town was full of ponies that were wary of him. Images of over shoulder glances flooded his mind’s eye, the redundancy of a mask breaking to the surface as it dissolved to reveal him staring intently forward. A vain attempt not to feel their judging stares.

Vincent breathed in, he felt the scales and plates slide easily, felt tension leave his unfurled hands.

‘Mission first, myself second. Get it together, this is nothing a knight should be falling apart over.’

His hood shifted as he glanced to the window normally obscured by the wardrobe where he kept his casual clothes. The light would fall onto the bed that was no longer there, and so instead fell onto the cold floor. He had forgotten just how large his room actually was.

The floorboards squeaked and whispered as his heavy steps accompanied him to the window. He fought with the lock—flubbing thing always jammed—and opened up the portal to allow crisp Canterlot air in. He leant out, resting his viridian elbows on the sill.

He’s spent days, weeks, months, and given his time in Saddle Arabia and Zebrica, a year at a time away from this room. A space that he identified as his own, a dwelling worthy of high social standing in the capital’s castle, a nest adorned with his respectable achievements; a home tailored by his history and for him through potions, poisons, spilled blood, cold sweat, and a burning ambition rivalling the worst of infernos.

…Gone.

Simply picked up and moved away without him, to a town he’d rather avoid. This was his den away from the natives. He spent his entire life pushing against walls until they were big enough for him. This was one place he could truly catch his breath. To pursue and apply the faithful love of his life: alchemy. The only place in Equestria that the Equestrian human truly belonged: the sanctuary of The Nopony.

‘It’s amazing how empty it actually is.’ The thought lingered as Vincent removed the mask, popping the timber hood back over his head after. He gazed into its blank stare and saw nought but the Canterlot Gardens far below. A soothing breeze filtered through the bristles of his exposed chin, cooling him as his thumb fondly slid over the cheek of the stallion mask.

He raised his head to look beyond the city and towards the incredible morning landscape of this beautiful country. The light caught his soft chin, highlighting his defined jaw. Vincent’s apprehension was outstandingly obvious, the fear in his malachite eyes barely subdued.

Another thing he hadn’t realised he had developed due to wearing the mask for so long: hiding behind his facial shell had made any attempt to hide his emotions fail miserably. He could lie impeccably through his voice but one glance at his face exposed all.

He hung his head, a fringe of earthly hair hanging past the hood, and groaned with eyes shut tightly.

“I don’t suppose this will be quick and easy without any complications, will it?” He had another feeling deep inside: somehow, he knew what the answer was and he didn’t like it one bit.