The third day brought results. They awoke and traveled under the spell of the rain, now rising higher and escaping the lowland marshes that seemed to tug restlessly at their boots and instead began to deal with the trees that littered the area, sparse in some areas, but as thick and dense as Jack’s hair the instant they’d surmount a hill and go into a valley. About two hours after sunrise, as they made their way past two stone rocks, Celestia paused, wincing. She put a hand to her temple and grimaced.

“Princess?” Jack asked, stepping forward. Though there was still tension between her and the all-folk, that didn’t mean it was going to get in the way of a job.

Or helping a friend.

“There’s a strong presence of magic nearby. I…” She shook her head, looking briefly drunk as she tried to collect her concentration. When her composure was regained, she squinted her eyes open and shut. “It’s near. It has to be.”

Though there were other questions in her mind, Jack decided to ask the most pressing to her. “How near?”

“Few miles at the most. We’ll see it shortly, I know.”

Jack looked over to Rarity for some sort of confirmation. Judging by the soul-folk’s own slight discomfort, she could assume what Celestia was saying fact.

“Let’s jus’ be careful. No tellin’ what ta expect.”

“Spiders and cobwebs,” Pinkie declared openly. “Definitely spiders and cobwebs.”

“Disgusting,” Rarity spat. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Their travel continued and Jack felt the faint strings of deja vu as they rounded a steep hill and came into sight of bodies.

Dozens of elk lay strewn across the grounds, their corpses untouched, but dead regardless. their bodies dead for a few months, but still well-preserved thanks to the chill.

“What on earth...” Celestia trailed off.

“The hunter,” Rarity said. Jack turned to look at her. “The hunter we talked to,” she elaborated.

“Yer right,” Jack agreed, recalling his story.

“Soooo, does this mean we’re almost there or not?” Pinkie asked, her gaze deliberately avoiding the scattered corpses.

“We’re near where the wendigo first was,” Jack answered, rubbing at her mouth. “So, maybe.”

“Let’s keep going then!” Pinkie cried, throwing an arm forward. “Daylight’s burning!”

The walk took them farther still, past one type of body and onto another, as they moved closer to a large, jutting mountain—it was too jagged for Jack to call it anything but, it looked like a canine tooth of a vicious beast that had been chipped and cracked through years of neglect—they spotted two things that further cemented the hunter’s tale. Hundreds of ruptured crystals littered the area, some the size of pebbles, others massive, head-sized things that weighed almost as much as Spike and seemed to house menace, their rough edges reminding Jack of so much broken glass.

“These crystals…” Celestia muttered under her breath, picking a small stone up and rubbing it between her fingers.

“What about ‘em?” Jack asked. Celestia shook her head, concentrating ahead.

“A nostalgic thought, that’s all.”

Past the first sprinklings of crystal was the third and final confirmation of the hunter’s tale. A woman’s corpse, the shirt she wore soaked crimson from the obvious puncture wounds that traveled from her chest and out her back. The corpse stared blankly at them; Jack stared blankly back at her.

“God,” Spike said under his breath.

Pinkie covered her mouth with a hand, trembling as she looked away from the body.

“Our soul-folk, I would assume,” Rarity said under her breath, taking the body surprisingly well as she knelt down to examine it, Jack doing the same beside her.

“Gotta be,” Jack agreed, looking over the corpse with the indifference a medical doctor held among the ill.

“How can you both just act like this is ok?!” Spike exclaimed. “That’s a body!”

Jack’s hand hesitated, then moved to the corpse and she searched the woman’s remains for odds and ends. “It ain’t somethin’ I like, but I can’t start bawlin’ over every corpse. Someone has ta hold back what they’re feelin’, otherwise we ain’t never makin’ progress.”

Celestia looked towards the two that were most distraught over the corpse. “Would you feel better burying her, or taking her body back to town for a funeral?” she questioned, her tone and posture a paragon of neutrality, as if it was a simple matter-of-fact, over the loss of a life.

“I don’t know,” Spike admitted, brushing a hand through his hair. “This is crazy. I never knew you’d be this…”

Celestia raised a brow. “Callous?”

He shook his head. “I dunno.”

“I see.” There was a moment’s consideration before she put a hand to his shoulder. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of bones and bodies. Dealing with them is important. Now as a sign of respect, but back in my day it was more due to limiting the spread of disease. So I’m sorry if I disappoint you on my more pragmatic approach, Spike.”

“You’re not disappointing me. I just guess I thought you’d be more worried about it yourself. Maybe.” He looked over to Pinkie. “Whatever she wants we’ll do, ok?”

“Give her a quick burial,” Pinkie muttered tonelessly, staring down at her feet. “We can’t stop now. Not when we’re this close.”

“Then we’ll do jus’ that,” Jack agreed.

With a quick spell from Celestia, the earth was dug into, forming a small rectangle of fresh earth and Jack did the honors of putting the body into the shallow grave. A nod from the earth-folk as she stepped back and Celestia gestured with her palm, covering the woman’s remains in dirt. Jack gave it a swift pat-down and looked at the others, waiting for instructions.

Pinkie watched Jack work, biting her lip. Once it was done, after some contemplation, she simply uttered. “I hope she’s found some peace.”

“I’m sure she has, sug,” Jack quietly said, crossing her arms under her breasts and looking over her handiwork.

It was a few minutes of quiet, as they stood near the grave of a stranger, but eventually they slowly tore their attention away from the grave and looked towards the rocky hill that loomed over them.
Celestia was the first to spot the door.

It was tucked far within an alcove of the hill, hidden away for anyone not actively looking for it and as they stepped forward, their boots crunching on the hard-packed dirt, it seemed to almost loom over them, an ebony-black thing that shone with an otherworldly glow to it. Strange runic lettering appeared, flowing around the frame of the heavy-looking thing from the highest point and all the way down to the base of the door.

“The hell?” Jack muttered out.

Celestia looked over the runes, her mind working like a well-oiled machine. “Sumerian?” she pondered. “I think.”

“Meanin’?”

“It’s in an ancient language beyond my years. I can only gather the basest notion of what it means.”

“Are they instructions on how to open it up? A warning?” Pinkie asked.

Celestia squinted, recalling words from a long-forgotten time. “Both,” she decided. “The door requires blood to open and it warns that the curse of Enlil for anyone who opens this without the blessing by the…” She tilted her head. “I assume a clan name, Kaer Rouge.”

“Curse of Enlil? Never heard of that one.” Pinkie stared at the runes, struggling to make sense of them all.

“Probably some long-forgotten religion,” Rarity remarked, her tone casual despite the obvious worry at what lied ahead. “Always on about curses and doom, remarkably depressing, to be quite honest.”

“If it is long-forgotten, then that means the curse has probably worn off by now! Especially if that religion doesn’t exist anymore,” Pinkie replied, slipping in a wink.

“Or wasn’t real ta begin with,” Jack agreed. She looked to Celestia. “Now, what ‘bout this whole ‘blood’ business?”

“Luna is more versed in the intricacies of blood offerings, but she’s said before they’re largely metaphorical. A simple cut of the hand will do fine.”

Jack nodded, reaching for her shortsword just as Spike stepped forward.

“I’ll do it,” he said, looking towards the group. “Better nobody that can fight has a hand injury, right?”

Celestia gave a proud smile towards the boy. “Quite true. Doubtful there’s anything threatening in here, but it’s far better to plan ahead.”

Pinkie frowned, turning towards him. “Are you sure, Spike? I only need one hand to throw stuff.”

“It’s fine,” Spike replied, moving towards the door. Jack offered the handle of her shortsword and Spike took it, surprised in a way by its weight.

“Cut the back of your hand!” Pinkie advised, then faced the strange stares she received. “What? These things never explicitly say you gotta cut the palm but everyone does it anyway. Why? Seems silly to me.”

“Would it hurt less?” Spike asked, looking down at his free hand, then back up at the door.

“I’d think so. And it’d cripple your hand a little less!” she answered, nodding eagerly.

Sucking in a breath, Spike squinted his eyes shut and put the edge of the sword to his skin. Swallowing, he made a quick cut across, hissing as he did.

“Sug?” Jack asked.

“Yeah?” Spike said, not opening his eyes to look over the damage.

“Ya didn’t draw blood.”

He opened his eyes and saw just that. Swearing, he brought the blade to a ready stance and this time pressed down harder, once more letting out a gasp as he cut.

This time, blood flowed freely from his hand and he stepped forward, pressing the wound against the door.

The runes offered a flash, then their coloration faded, vanishing back into the stone, disappearing one at a time until the rune at the top center was the only one remaining. They heard a click from within the stone and a great shudder went through the door, slowly opening.

“Great job!” Pinkie cried, throwing her arms over Spike’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he said, giving Jack’s sword back and taking a roll of gauze Rarity all but thrusted at him. Wrapping his palm up, he looked towards the dark that spilled out of the door. “Guess it’s time, huh?”

“You two do not have to come in if you do not want to,” Celestia offered, stepping forward to look at the stone door and its thickness. “You’ve done a good job, this would have taken far longer than we have time for if we hadn’t opened it like we did.”

“We’ve come way too far to just ditch you now!” Pinkie cheered, clenching a fist in anticipation for what was to come. Despite her seemingly determined fixation on the path ahead, her eyes darted between two things in particular. Celestia and Jack. After speaking to each of them, she knew that this was no longer just a simple matter of grabbing that grail and going home. Words were going to be exchanged. Harsh ones, maybe. Rarity was far too attached to Jack for her to disagree with her and Spike looked up to Celestia as the mother figure he never had.

If—if, she reminded herself—things came to a head, it fell to her to be the voice of reason. A smile came to her lips; the irony of herself playing that role wasn’t lost on her.

Finally, staring into the looming darkness ahead, it seemed to call her closer. The butterflies in her stomach were only too eager to agree. She’d become far too invested in the grail, whatever it was, to turn tail now.

“Yeah. I’m in,” Spike said. “I don’t know what’s in there, but… but I want in regardless.”

“Then it’s settled,” Rarity spoke. “Let’s go in and leave as soon as we can.”

With that, they followed after Jack, each stepping into the darkness in turn.

The first thing Jack noticed was the ground below her boots. Not earth, not stone, not even something like concrete greeted their feet.

Crystal.

The whole floor, as far as they could see within the darkness, was lined with the smooth form of crystal. It decorated the floors, the rounded stone walls, even the ceiling,

“Gracious,” Rarity muttered under her breath, holding out a fist then unclenching it. When her palm was fully open, an orb of concentrated magic sprung to life, further illuminating the dark. Celestia followed Rarity’s example, conjuring a flame of her own.

The mouth of the thing was cramped for Jack and Rarity, the roof scant inches above Jack’s head, and she kept flicking her eyes upward, gauging the ceiling with every step she took. Rarity took a few cautious steps forward, pointing. The orb of light she conjured levitated forward, down a narrow tunnel, then paused at a turn in the tunnel.

“I’ll go first,” Jack said, already drawing her shortsword and pressing on. Rarity glanced at the others, then followed.

The tunnel fed out into a wider room, one that seemed a sort of preparation room, with a stone chair and a long-dry wash basin nearby.

Slumped over on the chair was a long-dead corpse clad in armor of a pure, angelic silver. Generations had to have been washed over him, judging by his taut skin clinging tight to his remains, and his hair mere straw. In his hand sat a leather journal. Rarity and Jack exchanged a glance to one-another, before Jack stepped forward and touched the book. The skeleton let it easily slip from his palm, almost as if he were gifting it to the two.

Though there was trepidation in her actions, Jack opened the journal and paused, looking over the words.

“What?” Rarity questioned. “What is it?”

“It’s, uh, in English,” Jack remarked. “Like, plain English.”

Rarity moved beside the farmer and read herself. She gave a confused tilt of her head to her wife. “No. They’re clearly French, Jack.”

“Are ya blind?” She nearly hit the pages with the back of her hand. “Clear-cut here, sug. It’s—”

“It’s both!” Pinkie gasped, peeking over both their heads. She skimmed the words, cooing in wonder. “I’m seeing Gaelic! It must translate for you with some kinda magic. Weird, right?”

“An old spell,” Celestia remarked with a bit of surprise, overhearing the conversation as she rounded the corner. “Not many from my time were—” She paused on seeing the body and her eyes widened with actual shock, her normally docile expression twisting in alarm.

“Galahad,” she whispered, stepping towards the body.

Pinkie’s demeanor quickly became meek, backing off as she tugged at Jack and Rarity’s close, urging them to do the same.

Celestia sighed as she overlooked him. “I assumed as much, really. He was a driven man, like his father. Galahad would latch onto a noble cause and follow it to the ends of the earth. It certainly explains the crystals.”

“Crystals?” Spike repeated.

“Mmm. One of my father’s spells. Acted as an entrapment or suppression to things. My mother theorized it, my father brought theory to practice, and Galahad perfected it. He was always gifted in the art of spellwork, a trait his seed carried through the years.”

“Are you gonna be alright?” Jack asked.

“Of course. He’s been dead for generations. It’s simply strange having a ghost unearthed in front of you.” Celestia bridged her fingers in front of her stomach and rested them for a moment, observing the remains. “He was an interesting man. Passionate, earnest. Gentle. Like Spike in many ways.”

Spike was silent, instead he stared at the body of the knight, wanting to say something to Celestia, but finding no words to express himself with.

She turned away from his body. “But we need to focus on the here and now. He left his journal for a reason. Jack, is there any information pertinent to us?”

Jack started to look over the journal, giving a quick thumb over the pages. The entries began normal, comments of inventory, landing in Scandinavia, mentions of his wife and son. The journal grew more curious, however, when it began to speak of rumors of a man swathed in bandages seen in nearby towns, never staying in one area for long, always seeming to be searching for something.

It grew more curious still as it detailed Galahad’s travels after the bandaged man, who always eluded him, seeming to taunt him with every misdirection and narrow escape.

The journal grew abrupt a few more pages in, shorter, more urgent; Galahad mentioned sensing an extraordinary amount of magic near him while walking. The journal kept it at that.

Judging by his body being here, it was obvious he had investigated.

Jack was ready to hand over the journal to Celestia, not so much to read, but to maybe keep as a token of the man, when she caught sight of a dog-eared page a few after his last entry. She turned to it and paused. More words sprang to life, these seemingly magic inscribing themselves on the page as she stared down, frantic scratches, grammar nonexistent, the words there seeming to be important enough to say out loud.

“Tirek got grail. Tried to bring Sombra. Stopped him. Dying. Magic poison, used too much. Stopped him. Stopped creatures. Grail dangerous. Keep a clear head when traveling for it, senses trepidation. It or Tirek. Don’t know. Hid cave with spell. God takes what he gives.”

She looked between the group after she was done. “Sombra. There’s that name again. An’ the hell he mean by ‘senses trepidation.’”

“It means fear, Ja—”

“I know what the damn word means,” Jack cut Rarity off with a brush of her hand. “I ‘mean what senses it.”

“The grail?” Rarity questioned. She put her arms behind her back and gave a quick, pointed glance over to Celestia, before returning her gaze to the book. “He also mentioned the grail was dangerous.”

“In the wrong hands, of course he would believe this,” Celestia defensively said, matching Rarity’s look.

“Crystals!” Pinkie suddenly piped up, feigning exaggerated interest in the walls, staring closely at them. “You said they acted as a suppression, right? But what was he suppressing? Maybe whatever senses fear or something?”

Celestia nodded. “Tirek. If I had to guess, he was suppressing Tirek and whatever it was he had conjured.”

“Like that wendigo that was outside a while back. He must have kept it held back this whole time too.” Jack breathed out. “Hellava spell.”

“More than I could manage,” Rarity said.

“Why would he hide the cave?” Spike asked, another question to throw onto the pile.

“To slow down its discovery, perhaps. Make sure man was ready for whatever the grail held.” Celestia took a few steps deeper into the room, coming to an ornate door. “This door is a gateway. I have no doubt what lies beyond here will be something we can’t plan for. If we’re understanding Galahad’s note, then we have to keep our minds clear.”

“Wait, so we’ve got to think of nothing at all?” Pinkie asked, raising a hand up to scrunch her hair.

“Yes. If we can, at all. Whatever it is causing it, it will twist and change our thoughts into antagonists. Keep a clear head,” she urged, looking over the group once more to emphasize her point.

Taking the handle, she twisted the knob and they stepped through.

It lead to a long hallway of stone that, even with both their sources of light, seemed to ooze darkness ahead of them.

Swallowing, Spike took a step forward, meekly following after the others. He did his best to keep his mind clear as they walked and hoped that the others were doing the same, but it was a lot like telling someone to not think about elephants. Because you mentioned the idea, it was almost impossible to not think about it. It was hard not to think about how one minute you could be walking and the next stumbling into some long-forgotten trap, some ancient curse from intruding within a warrior’s tomb. All it would take is one errant move or one misspoken utterance to damn them entirely and, as they approached a door on the far end of the room, he took in a deep breath and put on as brave of face as he could muster.