October’s wind blew through his hair, hissing and screeching like a wyvern. The noise that it made sent terrific shivers down his spine and ran marathons down his arms and legs. He regretted not bringing a coat with him; the suit only protected and warmed so much.

It was dark, too. The clouds had rolled in and had blocked the moon and stars. Only the light from the school provided a small amount of illumination. Fog drifted across the ground. It rose and fell in tendrils of mist, like bony fingers that crept and crawled and clawed at the air. Artifex thought it fitting weather, considering the holiday.

That did not mean that he particularly liked it. The cold marble of the equestrian statue only increased his shivers. The fingers that rose from the fog he kicked away, not wanting to be seized by them. The breath that escaped his lips was warm and fleeting. But the pain?

The pain was incredible.

Against the sensation of cold, the pain proved stronger. His wrists felt like someone had poured acid on them; his leg felt like someone had taken a hammer and smashed the kneecap. His vision swam; he thought he saw himself in a pool of blood. Before him, in the fog, was a ghostly body of a young woman, also in a pool of blood. In the distance, he heard a scream, and it sounded so little and so familiar.

He blinked, and the body and cry and pain were still there.

He blinked again; only the pain remained.

Artifex flung his head against the marble with a groan. He wanted to run; wanted to get away. He desperately tried to push himself up on his cane, but only succeeded in sliding further against the statue.

Through it all, one thought pierced his mind: What was I thinking?

Memories flashed. The boy had come up to talk to him. He’d introduced himself as Blueblood, and Artifex recognized the name from an older conversation with Rarity. They did talk, though it was probably for far shorter than it felt. Blueblood had been pushy, confrontational. Without his friends beside him, Artifex had felt more and more alone and threatened. It didn’t help that the rich boy had a sneer even a mother could kill; nor was it helpful that his voice was snotty, arrogant, far too posh to be right.

How No Clue had tolerated him, least of all become his friend, was beyond Artifex.

He clenched his fists as his vision blinked red. His hand still hurt from the boy’s sharp nose. God, if he hadn’t been so hasty—

Did that fog just… jump?

Right where the phantom body had been stood a person. He was certain he was seeing things; the person seemed to float just above the ground, pale feet dangling beneath a casual outfit. Red hair that matched his red vision cascaded from the head. It seemed confused, perturbed. Then, all at once, it set its gaze on him, and hissed, before suddenly surging forward in a primal charge.

He flinched. The thing seemed to disappear for a moment, before returning back to its spot, still hissing.

Then he heard it vibrate. Oh, God, what the hell is—

Wait. That’s not it. That vibration is coming from—right next to me?!

Scrambling to get up, Artifex managed to glance back at the statute. He saw a swirl of prismatic colors form, and a cone of light shone out from it. Then he saw two things shoot out of it. The first was a dog, and the second was a high school girl.

“Oof!” the girl exclaimed. “We really should start bringing a mattress with us, Spike!”

“Yeah, that does sound like a good idea,” the dog replied.

Artifex started. Did that dog just talk?!

Then another thought cut through: I should help her.

Fighting against his cynicism and confusion, he got up and limped over to the other side.

They were both purple. The girl wore a light-blue uniform that looked slightly out of place, like it had been thrown on her suddenly. She rubbed her head. “Gosh… is it just me, or did the ground get harder?”

She noticed him standing nearby, and she let out a quick gasp. “Oh! I didn’t know you were going to meet me, Soul! How’s Sunset?”

Artifex frowned. “Sunset’s… fine. So is Soul.”

“So is Soul? What do you mean?”

He tapped his cane on the ground twice, letting out a sigh. “I’m not Soul is what I mean.”

“You’re not?” The girl squinted her eyes; then they shot wide-open. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry; you looked so similar to him!”

He grunted and offered a hand. She took it and he pulled her up. “S-sorry!” she said again. “I guess the portal messed with my head more than I wanted it to.”

“Portal?” He looked back at the statue.

“Yeah, the portal to Equestria—wait. You’re… probably not supposed to know that…”

He shook his head in a dismissive matter. “Eh, it’s fine. Sunset told me about it anyway.”

“Oh? So that means you go to Canterlot High, too?”

He looked back at the school. “Yeah. I do.”

There was a moment of silence. It was broken by the girl’s gasp. “Shoot! I should introduce myself! I’m Twilight Sparkle, and this is Spike.”

“I’m a dragon!” Spike said.

Artifex blinked. “You just talked.”

“You just saw us fall out of that statue. Are you really going to question me speaking?”

“… fair point.” He looked at Twilight with curious stare. “So you’re the friend that Sunset has talked about.”

“Yep!”

“From Equestria. As a princess.”

“That’s right.”

“… should I kneel or bow?”

Twilight giggled. “You don’t need to do either! Honestly, I’m just an ordinary pony like anypony else.” Seeing Artifex’s confused look, she added, “I-I mean, ordinary person like anybody else.”

He nodded. Then, suddenly remembering, he held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Princess Twilight. I’m Artifex Frost.”

“You don’t have to call me princess.” She took his hand. They shook. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Artifex.” She stepped back and tilted her head. “Sharp suit. Looks good on you. And you’ve even got a galanthus flower in your pocket! You’ve definitely got taste, Artifex.”

The sudden barrage of compliments momentarily startled him, but he recovered and said, “Thanks. The dance required some amount of formal wear.”

She looked at the school. “Oh! The dance already started?”

“Yeah. It’s still going, though. You haven’t missed much.”

“That’s good.” She turned back to him. “What about you? Are you going?”

Refusing to meet her gaze, he gruffly said, “I already went.”

“Really? But it’s not over!”

“No, it’s not.”

Twilight gave him a confused look. “Then what are you doing out here?”

He looked down the road. The wind blew through his hair, and he shivered. “It’s a nice night out,” he said, though it wasn’t meant as a conversation starter. “You can see all the stars and the moon and the clouds.”

“Yeah, it is,” Spike said. “You a stargazer?”

He shook his head. “It’s so nice out. So peaceful. So… odd.”

“You lost me,” Spike said, but then Twilight shushed him.

She came closer and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Somehow that made her seem a little older. “It sounds like you could use a friend to talk to.”

He glanced at her. “We just met. We’re hardly friends.”

She winced, retracting her hand. “T-true… but now’s as much of a good time to start as any, right?”

He stared at her for a very long time, not blinking even once. The music seemed to fade away. So did the lights, the stars, the moon, the sky. It was just them and the statue. Whoever this Twilight was, she seemed pure and earnest. And considering how she was friends with Sunset, he doubted she’d mean to do him harm.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fog take form of the red-haired girl again. He resisted the urge to gulp.

He sighed. “Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe I do need someone to talk to.”

“Here. Why don’t we sit against this statue and you can tell me all about it? There’s still time, right?”

“More than you know.”

They sat against the statue, and even though it was a bit uncomfortable, none of them complained. Spike sat on Twilight’s lap while Artifex sat some distance from her. They faced each other. She motioned for him to speak.

He didn’t. His leg still hurt and his cane sat awkwardly next to him.

“Artifex?” Twilight called. “Please, you can talk to me. I promise.”

He shifted around, not knowing where to start. There were so many avenues, so many paths. The fog drew nearer, as did that mysterious figure in the distance that snarled and growled at him in a voice only he could hear.

Twilight was looking at him expectantly. He sighed. “Fine. I punched a kid.”

She blinked. Then she gasped. “You… punched someone—”

“And he deserved it!” he spat angrily. Seeing Twilight and Spike flinch, he grew morose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout…”

“It’s okay, Artifex. Just tell me what happened, okay?”

He took a deep breath, and began.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

Artifex regarded the other boy with a slightly confused gaze. “Have we? I don’t quite recall.”

“Well,” said the other boy, “it was quite brief, all things considered. I don’t suppose you’d remember it unless I specifically pointed it out to you.”

He had blonde hair and his eyes were just as sharp, if not sharper, as Artifex’s. They, too, were a cool blue. But whereas his ever so slightly rolled out at the edges and softened, this boy’s eyes were sharp all around. He was an aristocrat, born and raised; he walked and spoke and stared with all the vigor and refinery of the groomed higher class.

But those actions, those aspects, betrayed his tone. He may have spoken with calmness and neutrality, but Artifex could tell by the quick wobbling of his jaw and the shaking of his lower lip that he was mad.

For his sake, he didn’t point it out.

The boy didn’t offer a hand, but he did pat himself on the chest. “I’m Blueblood,” he said, and he said it like that was all the explanation he needed to give.

“I suppose you are,” Artifex responded, crossing his arms.

“We’ve a mutual friend, actually.”

“Do we? I wasn’t aware.”

“You shouldn’t be, I suppose.” He took a sip; it was sharp and quick, and Artifex suddenly felt a need to join him so as to not be left out. He didn’t. He set his cup on the table.

“But I believe his name should be familiar,” said Blueblood, lowering his cup. “Tell me: do you know a certain ‘Nostradamus Clue?’”

Some of the juice spilled out of Artifex’s cup and spilled onto the table, leaving behind large, red circles that stained the white, satin cloth.

“He’s a good friend of mine,” Blueblood continued.

“Is he now?”

“Yes, he is.”

Artifex stared at Blueblood, and Blueblood stared back, and neither said a word for some time. The music kept blaring and people kept dancing. Adagio didn’t seem like she’d be back for a good while.

“I don’t suppose you’ve a good memory,” Blueblood said.

“I don’t suppose you’ve any evidence to that claim,” Artifex replied.

Both were cold.

“Need I remind you of what happened four days ago?”

“I woke up, for one. I also went to school and did school stuff. Really, that time frame is so general that I could name you any number of events and be correct.”

“Certainly, you could.” Blueblood swallowed the rest of his punch, crumpled the cup, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. “But I don’t suppose you’d remember something in particular, would you?”

Artifex narrowed his eyes. “Get to the point.”

His tone dripped with acidic menace; it was clear he was quickly losing his patience. But Blueblood seemed unaffected by his crackling stare. “I met you that day. For the first time in two months, actually. Rather strange; I wasn’t even aware there was a new kid in school. Well,” he added, wringing his hands in front, “besides No Clue, of course.”

“It’s a fairly large school. I don’t think two months is long enough for you to know who’s new and who isn’t.”

“A veritable conclusion, if nuanced and presumptuous.” Blueblood sniffed. “Nonetheless, when we first met, it was not under the best of circumstances.”

He racked his brain for what the boy was talking about. Four days ago… had he met Blueblood that day?

He remembered seeing No Clue. He remembered feeling angry.

He nodded slowly. “Yes… I think I remember now. No Clue and I. We’d bumped into each other. And… you’d apologized?”

Blueblood offered a dry chuckle. “Yes, I know. It seems out-of-character of me.”

There was another moment of silence. Artifex’s throat felt dry. He would have taken his cup and drank from it had he not wanted to not break his gaze. He wasn’t sure where Blueblood was going with this, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like it.

This boy was cold, just like him. It was almost like standing in front of a mirror. He could read him quite well, and Artifex somehow knew that Blueblood could do the same for him.

Blueblood suddenly sighed. “Well, we didn’t exactly exchange kind words. Or words at all, for that matter. Yes, I’d apologized, but you?” He closed one eye and tilted his head. “You didn’t.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“Please. Apologetic actions are more often done on both sides. I think you know this.”

“Maybe.”

Blueblood sniffed. It was a short and anxious sniff. It began to annoy Artifex, but he didn’t say anything. “You are as frigid as your last name suggest.”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. “Throwing insults won’t earn you much respect.”

“Neither will callously handling others, but I suppose you don’t care about that, do you?”

Artifex took an aggressive step forward. It was a fast movement for him, and it caught Blueblood off guard and made him step back. “If all you are going to do is insult me,” Artifex said, “then I suggest you leave. If not, then tell me what the hell you want.”

Blueblood recovered his lofty demeanor, and he sneered. “Come now, Artifex. This is hardly neighborly.”

“We aren’t neighbors. Get to the point.”

He wrung his hands and shrugged. “What can I say? I’m loyal.”

“You? Loyal?”

“Yes, me, loyal. I don’t know if you know the meaning of the word, so let me spell it out for you. L-O-Y-A-L. Loyal. Showing firm allegiance, usually towards someone important.” Blueblood took a step forward; they were inches apart. Artifex realized that they were actually the same height. “And I’ll have you know that I consider my friends very important.”

Artifex didn’t flinch. The rest of the gym suddenly seemed to go silent. He wasn’t sure how many eyes were trained upon them, if any.

“I want to treat those who are my friends well, because anyone who can find it in themselves to befriend someone as superb and—yes, I’ll say it—snotty as me ought to be treated well.”

“So you take care of your friends. And?”

“Not just take care of them. I try to right any wrongs done to them. When they are insulted by someone, I’ll take that someone and teach them a few things about who they are allowed to insult. If they are bullied, the bully will stop being a problem if they want any chance at succeeding in anything in the future. My family has a certain level of prestige and reputation that allows me to even minutely control even the most rambunctious of barbarians.” He paused, glancing to the side. “In a way, that makes me similar to how Sunset Shimmer used to act. Amazing we weren’t allies back then.”

He looked back at Artifex, and his gaze narrowed. “Wrongs are meant to be righted in the end. And when it comes to my friends, if they are handled poorly, then may God have mercy on the perpetrator.”

“Cut the dramatics,” Artifex said. His grip on his cane tightened. “I don’t care about how you view friendship. Tell me what you want or I will walk away.”

“I want to know why.”

The statement momentarily missed its mark. Artifex blew out an angry breath and turned away, but then stopped.

Why.

Why “why?”

He turned and asked Blueblood what he meant. “I want to know,” he repeated, “why you are so angry.”

He didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Better yet, why you seem to hold a grudge against No Clue of all people. Why not against the Sirens? Oh, yes, I know what happened. I’ve heard things. How Adagio teased and taunted you. How Aria threatened to punch you. If anything, they’d be more likely to earn your ire than your respect or tolerance; yet here you are, and there you were, standing next to one of them, like you were friends.”

“That’s—”

“Bar the fact that those three have a history of trying to take over the school, you’ve still a trio of girls who have tried to hurt you. Yet you forgave them.”

“I forgave them,” he said with gritted teeth, “because it was the right thing to do. Because they were earnest and honest and they felt bad and—”

“If it’s the right thing to do, then why haven’t you forgiven No Clue yet?”

“There’s nothing to forgive!”

“Well, I don’t know that, and neither does he!”

Blueblood pointed to the dance floor. Artifex now could hear the light notes of a simple waltz. He couldn’t see who he pointed to, but he had a good guess. “Listen to me. I don’t know what your relationship with my friend has been. I don’t know if it’s been good, or bad, or absolutely toxic. But it’s been eating him inside and I don’t know why. I don’t know why he’d ever be bothered by the fact that an asshole like you hasn’t given him the time of day, but then again, maybe that’s why he’s bothered giving me a similar chance.”

“I’m not mad at Clue,” Artifex protested. To him the words felt hollow; he knew they weren’t quite true. “How can I be?”

“That’s what I’m asking,” Blueblood replied. “And that’s what you’re not answering.”

“I…”

What could he say? What could he say that hadn’t already been said? What could he say that would be satisfactory? Filled with confusion and doubt, all he could do was stutter fragments of words and phrases. Normally articulate, here and now he was nothing more than a blubbering oaf.

Blueblood rubbed his temples. “If you aren’t going to answer, then at least allow me the pleasantry—” He said this with incredible disdain, as if the word was poison; “—of providing some theories.”

Artifex didn’t answer or nod. Blueblood took that as a prompt.

“Perhaps it is because you are green. Envious. Jealous of Nostradamus. Perhaps you’ve seen his grades, seen how he far excels some of the brightest in our school. Perhaps you find that infuriating. Perhaps you think that there is an insane gap between your level of skill and his. Perhaps you are resentful of that fact.”

Looking up, he saw Artifex regard him with an unamused frown. “That’s idiotic,” he simply said.

Surprisingly, Blueblood nodded. “I thought so, too, but I couldn’t just rule it out based on gut feelings.”

“Gut feelings?”

“Certainly. I don’t know you very well, Artifex, but I can tell you’re fairly smart. You aren’t stupid. You carry yourself as someone who knows more than he lets on. An admirable quality, in it of itself, I must say.”

Unsure how to take the compliment, Artifex shrugged.

“But, of course, there are other possibilities. For instance, perhaps you were just having a bad day?”

“Perhaps—”

“I was joking. You and I both know it was more than that.”

He sniffed again. Artifex’s hand tightened around his cane.

He was silent. He regarded Artifex with a careful, unreadable stare. He seemed hesitant to continue, as if he was trying to gauge Artifex’s lack of a verbal response.

“We,” Blueblood started. Then he faltered. He visibly swallowed, hard, like there was something lodged in his throat. “W-we… w-we all have our problems. And sometimes those problems are rather… personal.”

Now there was a lump in Artifex’s own throat. He couldn’t explain why.

The boy in front of him, previously so confident and holding on to a cold anger, now seemed subdued and nervous. He rubbed the back of his head. “I doubt you’d care, but… I understand a little bit.”

Understand?

“My parents haven’t the best relationship. They fight just as much as they don’t. It used to be pretty bad. I’d have to lock myself in my room as I heard my mother storm out and heard my dad drink himself half to death.”

Even Artifex had to sympathetically wince. Marriage was just as lovely as it was painful. But what did that have to do with him?

“Families are… strange, aren’t they?” At this, Blueblood offered a light chuckle, but there wasn’t any heart in it. “You go from loving them to despising them after only a moment or two. Sometimes it’s what they do that makes you want to throttle their necks.”

Where are you going with this?

“You’re the youngest of your family. You’d want all the attention; I get that. But you probably didn’t get much, did you?”

The cane wobbled. Artifex clenched his jaw.

“No. Instead, the attention was diverted to someone else. Someone else outshined you at every turn. There isn’t a single article on the internet about your accomplishments—”

“You looked me up?”

Blueblood ignored him—at least, he seemed to do so. “And that must have dug into you. It would dig into a lot of other people. And being so young, you wouldn’t really know how to… handle it. ”

The boy shrugged. “Perhaps you’d become resentful to that someone. Perhaps you’d feel angry. Maybe, just maybe, you’d feel that your family had betrayed you, had purposely ignored you, raising one child up while lowering the other. Perhaps that is what kept that anger inside of you for so long.”

He paused. “I don’t have any siblings, but I can only imagine your frustration with your older sister.”

Artifex stopped breathing. A splotch of red appeared in the corner of his vision, and it began to grow and grow until the entire world was bathed in a raging crimson.

“I get it, though,” Blueblood said. “Sometimes we need some sort of release. So we turn to less-than-noble means. Bullying, roughhousing… the worst of us do even worse things, but you get the picture.” He crossed his arms. “Nonetheless, just because I understand, doesn’t mean I can condone this, Artifex.”

Does… does he really think—

“You’re hurting. I get that. You’re probably still hurting. Maybe you hold some resentment still over what happened all those years ago. Maybe you can’t find it in yourself to confront your family over it. Tell me, have you seen a therapist? No, probably not. Can’t say I blame you; they’re wholly unreliable anyway.” He breathed in, and then he breathed out. “Still, pain is pain. And when you direct that pain towards people I care about, you shouldn’t expect not to be reprimanded for it. I didn’t take you to be that dumb…”

Blueblood was saying more, but Artifex had stopped caring mere moments ago. He gripped his cane so tightly that he heard it crack a little. All other sounds faded away. There was a roar in the back of his mind, and it spread to the front and all around until his head was filled with nothing but that roar. The red before him flickered in and out of existence. He saw the flames, the steel, the monstrous iron behemoth. He saw the crash, the burn. He saw the red in front of him and behind him and beneath him. There was blood, so much blood. His body trembled. His hands clenched into fists.

“Do you really think,” he practically snarled, “that this is all because of that?”

Blueblood paused mid-speech, and regarded Artifex carefully. “Well, it relies on several assumptions, but out of all of the theories, that one is the one that I find most credible.”

“You really think that this is because of my family? After everything I’ve lost?”

His voice kept rising while Blueblood’s began to shrink. “You really think that I’ve been so mentally scarred by supposed jealousy? Over such infantile reasons?”

“W-well, I—”

“And do you really think that it’s because of my sister?!”

“I—”

The red exploded. Artifex was no longer a part of his body. He felt himself drift away, but he saw his body surge forward. He saw the raised fist; saw Blueblood’s shocked and scared eyes.

And then he heard himself scream three desperate, bloody words—

Twilight was silent when he had finished. His cane had slipped away, and he absentmindedly tapped a finger against his left leg. He felt exhausted even though it had only been a few minutes.

He could feel her gaze on him. She was thinking deeply. Spike wasn’t saying anything, either; Artifex found that rather odd, and he found that finding it odd at all was also odd. He couldn’t find it in himself to face her. Instead, he looked down the lonely, concrete path that led out to the street. He followed it down to the city.

It grew colder. The wind picked up. The fog swirled and reflected multi-colored light. Still the apparition drew nearer. It looked like it had changed form. Now its hair resembled coiling pythons. Its hands extended into claws, and from its mouth, fangs protruded.

He blinked. It was still there. It wouldn’t go away. Why wouldn’t it go away? Why did it linger? Why did it watch him?

He felt Twilight touch him on his shoulder. He looked at her; her eyes were wide and sad. She suddenly moved forward and wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her. She was warm and comforting. After an initial moment of hesitation, he found it in himself to hug her—albeit lightly—back.

They separated. “I’m so sorry,” Twilight murmured. “That must have hurt a lot.”

He nodded, then looked away. “It’s not every day some stranger decides to open up old wounds.” Adding on to his point, he rubbed his left leg and winced. “It’s also not every day I punch someone…”

Twilight scrunched up her nose. “Yeah… punching someone…”

“Sounds like you and he got off to a rough start,” Spike said.

Artifex snorted. “You could say that.”

“Do any of your friends know?”

“I doubt it. I pretty much got out of there as fast as I could.” He threw his hands up in the air. “For all I know, they could all still be dancing and having fun without me.”

“Does that make you angry?” Twilight asked.

Artifex paused, considering that question. “No,” he finally said, sighing, “I don’t think so. They shouldn’t not have fun because of me. They deserve that chance, that opportunity.”

They sat there for a little bit, and Artifex felt the wind rush through him and up his sleeves. It touched his scars. It tickled.

“But…”

Twilight’s voice was pensive, thoughtful. He didn’t quite like her tone. It was like she was suggesting that he was in the wrong. He knew he was in the wrong. No matter Blueblood’s character, punching him was unjustifiable. He knew that. Why was he being reminded?

“I still think that punching him was wrong.”

Yes, Twilight, that much is obvious. What else are you going to say: that the sky is blue? Water is wet? He bit his tongue and tasted something bitter.

“And running away from the problem won’t help either of you.”

Does it ever?

She was looking at him. He could practically feel her gaze. She was just dripping with sympathy and compassion. It felt like his body was on fire. He couldn’t stand to have someone be a friend to him right now.

She must have understood that, because she suddenly let out a soft “ah.” She fell silent. Spike looked between the two, still not understanding.

Artifex looked at Twilight. She looked hurt and lost. No matter. They weren’t friends. What did he care what she felt?

What would she say? Would she be disappointed in you? Mad? Or would she turn cold and lock you out of her heart?

The phantasm from afar now sat just in front of his feet. No one else but he noticed it. It looked up at him and bared its teeth, but other than that it advanced no further. It looked like it was waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Artifex,” Twilight suddenly said, “do you want to go back inside anytime soon?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to continue the dance?”

Again, he shook his head.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

Hearing this, he grit his teeth, turned to her, and stated in a cold, barely-controlled tone of voice, “I want to be left alone.”

“Is that really what you want?”

He didn’t answer. He stared at the phantom that only he could see.

Twilight let out a sigh. She opened her mouth as if to say more, but no words came out. Spike sadly shook his head.

There was the sound of someone fast approaching, and they all looked up. Artifex was the most surprised of them all.

“Where the heck is he—oh! There you are!” Nostradamus Clue exclaimed, coming to a stop right in front of them. He cocked his head and looked at Twilight. “Um… who are you?”

After some brief introductions, Twilight decided to leave. She got up and dusted her dress off. “I’m gonna head inside,” she said to no one in particular. Artifex acknowledged her with a grunt, while Clue said “okay.”

She looked between them carefully, like she was worried at any moment they’d be at each other’s throats. Artifex thought that was foolish; he was much too tired, and Clue didn’t look like he’d handle himself well in a fight.

Suddenly she walked up to Artifex and took his hand in both of hers. She held it tightly. Artifex felt her fingers run up and down his scars, but if she meant that on purpose, she didn’t say so. Her lips were closed and her eyes were soft and sincere. “Your friends and I will be waiting,” she murmured. She then offered a smile; he didn’t return one.

She let go of his hand, stepped back, then offered a curtsy. “It was nice to meet you both,” she said.

“Yeah, it was nice to meet you, too,” Clue said.

When she and Spike had walked away and had entered the school, he turned to Artifex and asked, “So… who was that?”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle,” he replied curtly.

“Oh. Wait, ‘princess?’ This school has a princess?”

“No.”

He made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Clue clambered up almost immediately.

Artifex stood up, positioning himself over his cane. He stared past Clue, at the double doors of the school.

Clue scuffed a foot on the ground. “So…”

“Mm.”

“You mind telling me what happened?”

“I talked to that girl.”

“I meant inside.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, yeah, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

Artifex turned his gaze and looked at No Clue without a hint of emotion. To his credit, the boy did not falter. If anything, under that gaze, he looked more determined than ever.

“What happened?” he asked again.

“Blueblood and I talked,” Artifex said.

“What did you talk about?”

“Private things.”

“You punched him.” Clue crossed his arms. “The least you could do is tell me why.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“No, you don’t.” Clue shook his head. “But I get the feeling that you wouldn’t like not saying anything, either.”

“What gave you that idea?”

Clue paused, and Artifex first assumed he was at a loss for words. But when he spoke, it was with resigned confidence: “Because you’re Artifex Frost.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re Artifex Frost. You don’t do anything unless there’s a point to it. That’s just who you are.”

He narrowed his gaze. “How would you know?”

Clue shrugged. “Am I right or am I wrong?”

“… let’s say you are right.”

“Great.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“We talk about why you gave my friend a bloody nose.”

“How can he be your friend, Nostradamus? He’s an arrogant cad. A jerk. An asshole.”

“Yeah, he is, but he’s also someone who cares deeply for me and Brutos.”

“The other boy, I assume?”

“Huh. So you do remember.”

“Barely. So he cares. He deserved to be punched.”

Clue sighed. “Maybe so, but I want to know why.”

“That’s for me to know—”

“Why do you hate me?”

That threw Artifex for a loop. His thoughts came to a grinding and harsh halt. Whirling around and looking like Clue had struck him, he asked, “What?”

“I asked: why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you!”

“Then why the cold shoulder? I mean, I get that I can be a bit naïve and all, but if anything, you should hate Blueblood! Do you hate Blueblood? No offense taken if you do.”

“What—I—”

“But still! Me being naïve, I think, doesn’t warrant you hating me! At least, I don’t think it does. I mean, it’s not like this is something I’m really familiar with. Do people hate people for being too… what’s the word, ‘green?’ Yeah, that’s the word.” Clue gulped, and his voice grew an octave. “I-I mean, maybe that’s why I don’t have that many friends? Or is it something else? I-I guess, now that I think about it, you can hate me for being the way I am. It is pretty stupid. And, uh, wh-who names themselves after some dead prophet dude! Am I right? Ha ha ha, yeah, hate me all you want and—”

“I do not hate you!” Artifex shouted. No Clue opened his mouth to say more, but Artifex interrupted him; “Listen! I. Do not. Hate you. At all! Why the hell would I hate you, of all people?!”

“I don’t know!” Clue shouted back. “Maybe it’s because whenever we meet in the hall, you always give me a look like you want to burn a hole in my head!”

“That’s not—”

“What? It isn’t true? Then why don’t you explain right here, right now, why the hell are you so angry with me!”

Artifex grit his teeth so hard that he could feel his jaw screaming in pain. “I wasn’t—that’s not…” His locked jaw suddenly became slack. The anger, the frustration, it all flowed out of him like a dam had been opened. “I…” He wobbled.

Even Clue’s anger seemed to dissipate. He stepped forward. “Whoa, hey. Dude. Are you gonna faint or something?”

“No, it’s…” He took a breath. “It’s… I don’t know. Give me a second, please.”

“Uh, okay.”

Clue stepped back and Artifex readjusted his grip on his cane. It was hard to do, like all of the strength in his arms and legs had just up and left. Still wobbling upon that short, curved staff, he managed to ask, “What do you know already?”

“Not much,” Clue said after a moment. “Just that you punched Blueblood. Oh, and that you said something about your sister. Did you punch Blueblood over that, then? I get that he can be an asshole, but still.”

He ignored the feeling of his blood running cold. “Clue. Did you hear what I said? What I said specifically?”

He tilted his head. “That… your sister is… dead?” His eyes widened. “Oh… oh, no…”

Artifex sadly nodded.

“Then that means—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, God.” Clue facepalmed, hard. “Damn. I knew Blueblood had a runny mouth, but still. I can’t believe he’d stoop so low—”

“It’s not his fault,” Artifex replied, surprisingly calm. “It’s not your fault, either.”

“I didn’t say it was—”

“But you were thinking it.” At this, Artifex offered a tiny, satisfied grin. “I know you pretty well myself.”

He shook his head. “Besides. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

No Clue was silent. They both were. But it wasn’t the tense silence from before. It was as tired as Artifex, resigned like Clue. It was both of them combined.

The silence was broken by Artifex releasing a heavy sigh. “I don’t hate you, No Clue. I never did. The only person in this world I’d ever hate is already locked behind bars and won’t be released until I’m well in my thirties.”

“Then why were you so angry whenever we’d meet in the hallways?”

The sigh was repeated. “Honestly, I’ve little idea. Perhaps I was stressed out over possibly being late to class, far-fetched as that may sound. Or…” He fell silent for a moment.

“Or maybe I was never mad at you, but at someone else.”

“Someone else? Who?”

An answer arrived in the blink of an eye. It struck down all other possibilities. It made sense; so much sense that he doubted it could ever be considered wrong.

“Me.”

Clue reeled back. “W-what? Why would you be mad at yourself?”

Artifex ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t answer immediately.

“Did I hurt you?” he suddenly asked.

“Huh?”

“All those times we met in the hallways. Did it hurt? Not just physically, I mean. Did it dig deep? Drive nails into your hands, stake you out on a piece of wood?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Clue admitted, “but, yeah, it still hurt a good amount.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

More silence followed. Neither quite knew how to continue the conversation.

Finally, Artifex had had enough. He looked Clue right in the eye. “Do you remember when we first met, and when you saw my journal?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember what I said?”

“That… you wouldn’t let me see it because you didn’t know me well enough?”

Artifex didn’t say anything for a good while. The wind picked up. The apparition nearby took some steps back and watched them.

“I think you deserve to know the truth,” he suddenly said.

Clue regarded him with a confused look. “The truth?”

“About why I’m angry, about what was in the journal. They’re… connected.”

His discomfort was visible. He awkwardly shifted around on his cane. No Clue took notice of this and said, “Artifex, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re uncomfortable about—”

“No, it’s okay.” His cane slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground with a dull thud. Yet he remained standing. He ignored the discomfort in his leg, the pain in his wrists, the nervousness that electrified his heart. “I’m done hiding it anyway. You deserve the truth, Clue.”

Clue slowly nodded.

Artifex sighed. “It’s a long story, though.”

“I’ve time. Take as long as you need.”

Artifex looked back at the school, and he saw the doors were still closed. He wondered if anyone else noticed he was gone. He wondered if they would come out and search for him as Clue did.

“He’s outside?” Sunset asked.

Twilight nodded. “Yeah. Someone else came outside and that’s when I left to get you guys.”

“That must be No Clue,” Rainbow said. “He said he’d go after him.”

“How’s Blueblood?”

“Right ober here,” the rich boy said with a wave, his nose still held between Clue’s hankerchief.

Twilight gave him a disapproving stare. “You know, I had almost hoped that you wouldn’t be as bad here as you are back in my home world.”

“Trust me, Princess,” Brutos said gruffly, “he’s at least trying to be better.”

They were all standing right next to the table where Artifex had punched Blueblood. The crowd had long dispersed, but now all of their friends had gathered.

“Did you really have to antagonize him, Blueblood?” Rarity asked. “Surely you knew that it would be a bad idea.”

“Mebe so,” Blueblood said, “but the way he’d been treating No Clue was unacceptable.”

Sunset pursed her lips. “He must have felt pretty bad if he ran off like that.”

“He did sound pretty regretful,” Twilight said. She looked at her fellow Equestrian. “I know I don’t know him as well as you guys did, but I think that you guys should at least go outside and talk to him. He could use some friends.”

“What makes you think we weren’t?” Adagio said, causing everyone to turn to her. “Artifex is our friend. We’re here to have a good time, and he’s feeling pretty bad. We are obligated to cheer him up.”

“Dagi’s right,” said Sonata. “Where is he, again?”

“Right by the statue.”

“Got it! C’mon, guys, let’s go!”

She took the lead, with everyone else—Blueblood and his group included—following.

“Are we really needed?” Treble asked. “I mean, we did just get introduced.”

“You said it, bro,” Gaige said, looking up at the sky. “But, I mean, this chapter is supposed to be pretty meaningful, so everyone has to go. Even if we only get a few lines to say.”

Lone looked at the two of them with narrowed eyes. “Seriously? You guys are trying to act funny in a situation like this?”

“Let them be,” Soul said. “We’ve got a friend that needs us.”

They all went through the gym doors and down the hallway, pushing past the long line of people still attempting to enter the gym. Crossing the corner, they headed down the main hallway and reached the double doors that led outside. Sonata and Sunset pushed them open, and they all filed out.

“Look!” Pinkie called, pointing a finger. “There they are!”

“What are they doing?” Swift asked.

Sunset squinted. “It looks like they’re just… talking.”

“What about?” Soul asked.

Sunset strained her ears, leaning forward. Artifex’s voice was faint, but clear and strong. It was filled with confidence, intelligence, sorrow, and hope. It was a cornucopia of emotions, spilling out of him.

Then she finally heard him say: “It all started in a hospital…”