Both Rarity and Darknight departed in different directions from Factory Seven. Among the few supplies that the Dark units had gathered were a number of small military airships, large enough for one or two ponies. They did not hesitate to lend them to their beloved Watchers, or to ask why the pair needed two. Rarity did not have the heart to tell them that she would not be fighting in the battle that they surely wished she would win, but she had the impression that some knew. Darknexus certainly did, and he accepted her choice, knowing that it was her prerogative as a canon being.

Darknight headed south, toward the emergent city of Canerlot. Rarity, meanwhile, headed east across the hyperborean land on her own path. Doing so was incredibly difficult, but not for any physical reason. In fact, a physical obstacle to distract herself would have been welcome in comparison to being left alone with her thoughts. The airship was cramped, with no space to walk or move, but the controls were simplistic and the weather smooth- -and every second, Rarity wondered if she had chosen correctly.

After three days of passing over empty wasteland that belonged to no pony at all, Rarity reached the next inhabited area on her charts. It was a minor and obscure country that according to the various maps that Concept Six had given her was called the Yak’s Republic of YakYakistan. With her fuel supplies dwindling and no more stops until the Exmoor archeological landing point one hundred miles south, Rarity brought the airship down onto a snowy landing field. As soon as she powered down the engine, she spotted an especially hairy creature approaching her from a nearby hut that was apparently the main body of the airport. His uniform was almost entirely lost in his fur, and he wore an ushanka that appeared to be the same texture and color as the rest of him.

When he was in earshot, he immediately began to yell.

“Little horn pony is not expected here!” he shouted, even though he was only a few feet away. “What is doing here in glorious motherland of YakYakistan?”

“I just need to refuel,” said Rarity, quietly. She was distracted and did not want to deal with this yak at this particular moment.

“Hmm,” said the yak, stroking his long beard. “Is little horn pony having the correct immigration papers?”

“Papers?” asked Rarity, annoyed. “No, I don’t have any papers.”

“Good!” laughed the yak, slapping Rarity on the back so hard she was driven into the snow. “Only SPIES come with the papers! And little horn pony knows what yaks do to dirty spies?”

“No. What?”

“The goulash.”

“You mean gulag.”

The yak lifted his hair out from in front of his eyes and snorted in Rarity’s direction. “No. Yak knows what yak means. Yak means GOULASH. Does pony thing yaks are having the great much of funding for gulag?”

“Um…no?”

“Da. Yak was not thinking so.” He turned around. “Follow yak. Yak show you where fuel store is.”

Rarity climbed out of the snow and followed him to the airport gate. There was no fence connected to it, of course; they had not possessed the money. Still, the yak insisted on following procedure and knowing how important it was Rarity obliged.

The yak city was just about the most depressing place Rarity had ever seen, and it was not what she needed in her current mood. All of the buildings were enormous state-planned concrete monoliths, and they were hideous with their tiny windows and total lack of aesthetic balance. Making matters worse was that like everything else, they were covered in snow. There was no greenery whatsoever. Just snow and sadness.

“Well, this place is…quaint.”

“Is not quaint! Is glorious modern city, epitome of world! Shining jewel of Discodia!”

“Of course,” said Rarity, preferring not to correct the yak or mention that Discord was, in fact, dead.

“Yaks come to land in great ancient times, settle home here! Modern yaks are descendent of glorious Cossyaks, but now have much better government to redistribute the wealth!”

“Not mine, hopefully. I have no money.”

“Exactly! Neither do yaks! Is point!”

Rarity groaned. She felt a headache forming behind her horn, and she actually found herself wishing that she could go back to the airship. Still, she did not want to be rude. “So, what is it you do here?”

“Yak watches airport. Is security. Keeps capitalists out, and not-capitalists in.”

“No. I mean yaks in general.”

“Ah!” The yak pointed up at a mountain were a large gray structure had been assembled, appearing to grow out of the otherwise picturesque mountain like a dreary growth. “Yaks mine the Ural mountains!”

“Mines? For what, exactly?”

“Does pony not have ears? Ural mountains are full of urals! Yaks mine those!”

“And what exactly is a ural, then?”

The yak suddenly leaned closer. “Is state secret!” he whispered. “Is tiny horn pony being sure that tiny horn pony is not actually SPY?”

“If I were a spy, would I have asked you directly for a state secret?”

The yak stared at her. “Yak is not sure if tiny horn pony is being smart and giving lip to yak or not. But yak let slide because pony is same color as snow, and yak likes snow. Is favorite food.” He shrugged. “Is only food.”

He started walking and led Rarity to what was more or less a shack half-embedded in a snowdrift. The yak pushed the door open and then pushed Rarity inside. The inside of the shack was not much cleaner than the outside, but Rarity saw that it was as general store- -or at least meant to be. There was no food at all, or supplies of any sort. The shelves were bare.

“Where is all the merchandise?”

“Merchandise is bourgeois. Here, have glorious propaganda.” The yak picked up a piece of paper and shoved it in Rarity’s face. It showed hoof-drawn image of a bearded and ridiculously muscled yak standing atop a green hill wielding a hammer and sickle. The caption was: “Yaks are best yaks, and get goulash! Yaks who not work are worst, and ARE goulash!” Most of the letters were backward, and looked like they had been drawn in crayon.

“Tiny horn pony can buy coal for engine here. Burns best in whole world! Richest, thickest yak smoke! Also, we have paper!”

“I don’t need any more propaganda, thank you. This one is quite enough.”

“No, not that paper! News paper! Here!” He pointed behind a counter to where a graying and seemingly ridiculously old yak was staring at a telegraph ticker. The ticker would occasionally move, tapping out something that Rarity could not decipher. As it did, the yak would slowly write down words onto a sheet of paper.

“Is this how you get information from the outside world?”

“Da! Is epitome of yak engineering! We use yak to make words out of clicky-machine! Pictures much harder, though. The bandwith is being only so-so.” He picked up a paper and gave it to Rarity. “Here! Read, become educated like yaks! Learn that outside world is so bad because is not having the great-much of communism! Yak will find yak to find yak to get yak to shovel coal.”

He walked off, leaving Rarity alone with the paper. She looked around the store, finding it empty save for the telegraph yak.

“I don’t suppose you would be up for any conversation?” she asked

The yak stopped writing and looked up over her glasses. Then she immediately but very slowly went back to her work.

“I didn’t think so,” said Rarity. She looked around one last time to see if there was any food to eat, but upon seeing none took a seat in a yak-sized chair and opened the paper.

She had expected to see something about the disruption of the Gala, and perhaps warnings to be on the lookout for a white unicorn and a badly wounded Dark unit. What dominated the front page, though, was entirely unexpected. The headline stood in enormous bold letters:

“PRINCE OF CRYSTAL EMPIRE MURDERED!”

Rarity stared in disbelief, and then threw open the paper, quickly reading through the yak-written pages.

“Year of our Solar Goddess 1, August 8^th: This morning Prince Shining Armor, scion of House Twilight and husband of Crystal King Sombra was discovered murdered in his private chambers by the King himself. Anonymous but trusted sources within the castle indicate that he was completely decapitated, making necromancic reconstitution impossible. The head was not found, and was assumed stolen by the culprit.

“Early investigation has shown that the locks and security spells on the Prince’s chamber were not compromised. The room, however, showed a tremendous residual magical signature. Our experts believe that this is suggestive of a teleportation spell. There were no signs of struggle, but traces of neurotoxin were found in the prince’s bloodstream.

“The few reporters that survived the interview indicate that Sombra has been thrown into an inconsolable rage. His most recent edicts have closed the Crystal Empire to outsiders, and expelled foreigners on pain of immediate execution. The remainder indicate the torture procedures for the culprit once he is found. Although they are too lengthy to list here, it should not need to be mentioned that they are quite gruesome.”

Rarity continued reading, but she could hardly believe what she was seeing. The Crystal Empire was closed. Her plans were completely dashed- -the only safe place in all of Equestria was now beyond her reach. Further, the other articles indicated that the Inquisition had already begun: ponies were being rounded up throughout Equestria: Baltimare, Vanhoover, throughout Steurope, and in Manehattan- -the place where Sweetie Belle’s boarding school was located.

“No! Sweetie Belle!” Rarity threw down the paper and stood up. As she did, the first yak came back to the room.

“Yak is back,” said the yak. He looked down at the paper. “Ah! Tiny horn pony read depressing news. So sad. But not really.” He shrugged. “Frilly prince pony is one of noble family. They are having the great many children. One will replace him. Yak is sure everything turn out okay.”

“Until Celestia comes for you.”

“Sun-pony not care about yaks. Only ponies. Yaks safe either way.”

“But we’re not.”

“Ponies? No, ponies not.”

“She has my sister.” Rarity pushed past the yak. “I’m such an idiot. He was right. It is the only way. None of us will ever be safe. Not until she is dead…” H���