One story. Ten stories. A hundred stories. A thousand.

Everyone is living a story, surrounded on every side by everyone else living parallel stories. The world is so vast and filled with so many interwoven and sometimes conflicting stories, how can it be that any one thread in the vast tapestry is important? Who cares where a lone thread begins or ends? No one single thread can possibly be special. There are just too many stories.

A thousand stories in a village. A hundred stories in a hamlet. Ten more within a family. And only one to a person.

It is only at his story's close, that he realised it was no longer about him. He'd been the villain all along. As he looked back, the last page turned, he realised the story was now being written about someone else.

The afternoon sun was high.

The brilliant blue day was hot.

Crimson was still waiting outside of the Guard Compound's Gate.

He was standing off to the gate's side, up against the broad wall in the thin band of shade the gate cast. He'd been standing there for hours. Waiting.

The two Royal Guards on duty at the gate had long stopped throwing the injured pegasus suspicious looks.

He was in pain. His right wing was bandaged firmly to his side, but both his side and wing still hurt with every inhale because of the hole that had been punched in both.

Three of his legs were aching unrelentingly from having to bear the weight of the injured fourth, as he kept it held off the pavement. And he'd been standing here without moving or rest for hours.

Because Luna had promised him, because she'd told him he could wait here for Prey to rejoin him. Luna had promised she'd deal with the sham trial.

His deeply-cut hind leg hurt the worst of his injuries. The pills really weren't helping all that much. He wanted one of Prey's plant leaf concoctions, as he was sure one of those would numb the pain much better.

Just as soon as Prey came out.

He'd repeated that sentence over and over to himself, standing here, as the sun crept higher and the clock tower bells tolled in the distance.

A mantra; just as soon as Prey comes out.

Prey would come out, and they could go back to their flats. To sleep. To mourn Gloom. To cry. To collapse into unconsciousness.

He didn't want to think about that. He'd been avoiding thinking about that. The future was just a grey, impenetrable wall of fog. They would get through it, but he didn't know how. He never knew how. Prey would know how.

Exhaustion. He'd spent last night alone, barely able to sleep but in fits and starts, panicking, and begging Luna in the dreamscape. And then a tiny portion of it in the cold dark underneath the mountain.

He'd been back in Canterlot for over twenty-four hours. He had made no effort to reach out to Scenic, Lilly, or the others in that time. He couldn't face it. They probably didn't even know he was back yet. Or about Gloom.

He couldn't face telling them alone, he just couldn't. When Prey came out, then... then he still didn't know. They'd come up with something. Face it together.

Just as soon as Prey came out.

'Just as soon as he comes out.'

Crimson was still waiting. The wounds inflicted by his traitorous clan hurt just as bad as before. Worse even.

Prey had told him they were all dead now. He didn't know the how of it. He didn't need to. He was just viciously glad.

Crimson didn't move as the heat of the day and the painful exertion of just standing against the wall in his condition sent rivulets of sweat down his neck and face.

But Crimson couldn't leave, because this was the gate where Prey was going to come out.

'Just as soon as he comes out.'

Crimson was still waiting there when Strange Happenstance strolled across the street in the wake of a returning Guard patrol, and settled himself against the high wall across from him. And safely out of hoof's reach.

For a moment, who it was barely registered. Crimson felt nothing. The slimy, lying private detective was worthless. Strange didn't matter. Gloom was dead, and he was waiting for Prey. This stallion was less than nothing in the face of that.

And then, the pieces clicked into place. This was all Strange's doing, it suddenly all made sense.

The Guards waiting for them at the train station, the Royal Guards, arresting them when they were at their weakest, and this closed-door trial of Prey for who-knows-what.

Cold, freezing cold contempt filled Crimson's chest.

"You did this."

Strange unhurriedly tipped his wide-brimmed hat back, "Well now, that's a very open-ended statement. I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

This conversation had only just begun, but Crimson was already done with it. He wanted nothing from the smug neonate. He just didn't care right now. He'd deal with Strange some other day.

"Go away."

"Nah, I don't think I will. This is a public street, anypony can stand here. Only a Guard can ask me to move on, and would you look at that," Strange slowly panned his gaze up and down Crimson's injured form, "You're not on duty at the moment."

"Go away." Crimson repeated evenly.

Inside, he was angry. So coldly angry at this sorry excuse for a self-assured waste of air, at this stallion who only lived to make life worse for everyone else.

Strange Happenstance completely ignored his words, and instead started on with what he'd obviously swaggered over here to say, "The law is the law, and it's there to protect everypony. I've seen it too many times, where the little pony gets trampled all over by bigger, richer ponies. In a perfect world, I wouldn't even be needed, because the law is supposed to protect and condemn everypony equally. But it doesn't, so I'm here to make it."

The cocky, aggravating grin vanished off of Strange's face, "I make it work. So I want you to confess, right now, what you did to your victims in Alfalfa Dale. To Lilly Blossom, your own squadmate. And to the Border Guards."

Crimson breathed. In, out. He controlled himself, just like he always did. He was hurting, injured, and this liar had the gall to stand there, all high and mighty without a scratch on him or his hat, and accuse him.

Crimson wanted the familiar weight of his father's wingblades so very badly in that moment. He told himself it was probably a good thing he didn't have them. But his conscience could only muster up a 'probably'.

"I'm sick of your lies. Go away."

"There's a saying in law enforcement. Question a guilty pony enough times, and they will change their story. But an innocent pony cannot change their story." Strange jabbed a hoof aggressively into Crimson's personal space, "You and your Night Guard friends have been avoiding even the simplest of questions. Not even one of you has been capable of giving me an honest answer yet."

"You wouldn't know the truth if it ran you through." Crimson said before he could stop himself.

"What is the truth, then?" Strange instantly shot back.

Crimson controlled himself this time. He breathed deeply, side and wing flaring in pain, "I have no further words to waste on you."

Now the mud-brown unicorn was grinning nastily, "Wanna' bet on that? And when you lose the bet, you can follow me down to the station and confess."

Crimson focused on the gate and the Guards passing around in the Compound just past it, rather than Strange, ignoring him.

"That disgusting little white murderous midget you call a 'friend' is certainly confessing right about now."

Crimson was too controlled to twitch. He just wanted Strange to shut up and go away. Or take a swing at him, because then he'd have the excuse of self-defence when he broke Strange into pieces.

How had the private detective even found him out here? Probably some friends in the Royal Guard, who'd seen him waiting here outside the compound, and had informed Strange.

Strange Happenstance wasn't done though, "I don't know how you managed to lie to a Princess so convincingly, but the truth always comes out. I made sure of that. Your little plan to snub justice and a court of law? Guess what? You're standing around out here like a lost stray, but I've already burnt down your house of cards."

For a moment Crimson thought of what Prey might say if he were here. He'd probably smile brightly, while saying something completely innocent and yet somehow utterly mocking. Crimson thought about that instead. About what Prey would say when he came out, and not the constant pain, nor the grief, nor the exhaustion or blazing sun, and definitely not Strange Happenstance who was still going on and on. It didn't work.

"-If he tricked one Princess, then the answer's plain to see. My cutie mark tells me he isn't going to be able to trick the better Princess."

Crimson knew he was making a mistake when he opened his mouth. He knew it, but he couldn't help but ask, because Prey had not come out and something was wrong:

"What did you do?"

"Ha, you lose the bet. A deal's a deal. You lost, so fess up." Strange goaded rather than answer, brushing nonexistent dirt off his foreleg with the other hoof.

"What did you do?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Strange retorted.

"What. Did. You do?"

Strange's smug smile faded again as he challengingly met Crimson's glare, until all that was left was the angry, justice-obsessed stallion underneath it all. "I made certain he gets what's been coming to that criminal for a long, long time."

"What. Did-"

"-I took him before Princess Celestia, since Luna wouldn’t listen to reason. Prey is going away forever. He's going to spend his life in prison, atoning for his sins. And when I'm done, you and your dear Sargent are going to have cells right next door to him!" Strange spat.

Crimson stared at Strange. A lance of jagged red-hot pain shooting through his bandaged wing made him aware he had been subconsciously flexing to strike and spill blood, phantom wingblades subconsciously thought to be there. He hated Strange. The deluded stallion genuinely repulsed him like the stench of rotting meat.

Crimson found his voice, and also found that the words were already waiting all lined up on his tongue: "You honestly think that- what? That you'll get away with this? Really think? That there's not going to be any consequences?"

"Careful there. That almost sounded like either a threat or slander. Both are illegal." Strange warned, his grin just begging for Crimson to keep going and give him a justifiable reason.

In that moment, teetering on the brink of falling into a pit of grief and exhaustion, Crimson honestly wanted nothing more than to kill Strange. To actually kill him. Here and now. To lash out at a clan who was now forever beyond his reach, but that Strange Happenstance would make a wonderful bloody substitute for. He wanted to, but Prey would never forgive him if he did. Because then he'd be arrested, found guilty, and thrown into prison. And Prey wouldn't want that.

"You don't get it," Crimson got out between bared teeth. He might not have fangs like a true thestral, but it came naturally, "Do you think you're going to survive his retaliation? If any of your lies are true, and I'm not saying they are, do you think Prey won't take revenge? You're a dead pony walking. If it were true, I mean. Which it isn't."

"I am on the side of justice. And justice does not bow in the face of threats. I will stand up for what's right, no matter the cost." Strange stated confidently. He pushed off of the wall, casually adjusting his hat.

"Besides," He threw a hoof back condescendingly over his shoulder, "I'm hardly worried about the impossible happening. He's not going to be able to hurt anypony anymore, not where he's going. Just you wait. Soon, I'll expose you too."

Crimson stared after Strange as the detective left. His head pounded with blood, and his injuries ached savagely.

He looked at the compound's gate. Then to where the private detective was merging back into the passing pedestrians. Then back at the gate.

Crimson's mouth was dry as sand. He was desperately thirsty. And he couldn't get the detective’s words out of his head.

Strange had said Prey wasn't ever coming back out. That he'd been taken before Celestia, or something. But Strange was a liar.

Yet Prey also hadn't come out yet. And he'd learnt without being told that Prey was scared stiff of Celestia for some reason.

But Luna had promised she'd deal with it. That it was going to be okay.

'She promised.'

Crimson waited and waited, as the terrible feeling in his stomach grew.

Ponies on the street looked at him and circled wide, not coming near. The band of shade he was standing in got narrower and narrower.

But he kept waiting, because he had to have hope. Crimson knew in his heart that waiting wasn't helping, that something had gone horribly wrong, but what else could he do?

You kept waiting. You kept telling yourself only five more minutes, then you'd try something else. And then five more. And five more. Because leaving meant you had to face the reality that you had no control. It meant giving up.

Crimson didn't know what else to do, aside from to keep waiting and praying.

A painful glint from the sky abruptly seared his eyes. His good wing snapped up to block the light stabbing at his eyes, hissing with pain. But when he cautiously parted a couple of pinions and squinted up between the feathers, whatever it had been up in the sky was gone.

His rational mind suggested an inconsiderate pegasus with a mirror or something shiny. But he knew it hadn't been. The fur on the back of his neck had stood up. And he was sweating heavier, as if the temperature had spiked.

Crimson waited... and waited... and kept waiting as the pit in his stomach grew.

Crimson waited until he just couldn't anymore. He had to take action.

He staggered forwards, the first movement in hours nearly folding his shaking legs. He half-staggered, half-limped up to the two Guards staffing the compound's gate.

They eyed him askance, their golden armour conspicuously not the indigo and silver steel of the Night Guard.

They didn't recognise him as an off-duty Night Guard, they didn't know who he was. All they'd seen was an injured pegasus who hadn't moved for hours and was only now suddenly approaching them.

Crimson didn't care what they thought. Never had. Just even less now. "Let me in. I want to see Lieutenant Starry Wing."

"Sir, this area is off limits to non-Guards-"

"I am a Guard, a Night Guard. Let me in. I want to see the Lieutenant."

"Do you have your badge, then?" One of the two challenged, not impressed.

Crimson looked blankly at the stallion. Did he look like he had his armour or badge on him?

"My Guard identification number is zero-zero-zero-A-six-five. I need to see-"

"Sorry sir, but that's not enough. I have no way to verify that's even a real number, let alone if you possess it. Please move along or come back later."

"I am a Night Guard. Go find one of them on duty and just ask them. My name is Crimson Trace. This is important."

Neither golden-clad Guard was moved, especially since Crimson was claiming to be a Night Guard, "No badge, no entry. And shouldn't you be in a hospital?"

"Please," Crimson heard the grinding desperation in his own voice, "I need to see someone in the Night Guard. I need to find Prey! He's supposed to be here."

"Woah there, seriously, should you be in hospital? Talking about hunting and prey like that." The other Guard asked, growing a mite concerned that perhaps the pony in front of him wasn't all mentally there.

"No not-I mean, not prey, Prey. In the Night Guard, like me. He's supposed to be here." Crimson took a step forwards.

Both Guards drew together to block his way, now both showing wary concern, "Are you on medication at the moment? Sir, I think you're confused."

"I think you should go home. Nopony is going to be called 'Prey'. Maybe they'll be at home, though?" The second tried suggesting, tone like he was addressing a foal.

"I'm not drugged, I know exactly what I'm saying. Prey. His name is Prey, you must know him! The sheep, I mean the lamb of the Night Guard." They must have heard. Unless they both were new, they must have at least heard the gossip flying around about the ISND.

But there was not even a flicker of recognition in either Royal Guard’s eyes. But how could that be? How could they not know?

Were they purposefully being dense? Anger, never far away, blossomed in Crimson's chest, "You know who I'm talking about, you must! I've heard what you say about him, about us! All the time."

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to please calm down. This seems to be a big misunderstanding-"

"Prey. A lamb. White, with a ribbon. Don't lie, you can't not know who I mean!" His feathers were bristling.

"There's nopony here like that, I haven't ever even seen some sheep or another. You're confused sir, please just go home. Or to the hospital." One Guard tried to start ushering him back from the gate.

The utterly absurd desire for violence blazed through Crimson's head, there and gone in an instant. Wing strike to the side of the head, where the inefficient helmet didn't extend down to cover. Stomp forwards and break the knee while the Guard staggered, then kick him in the horn so he couldn't retaliate once he was on the pavement-No. That would solve nothing. He was already injured. He didn't need a fight.

But what could he do? Crimson stood there, lost, angry, hurting.

And Prey wasn't coming out the gates.

What could he do? Limp to his flat, get his badge, and limp back? Or try again tonight when there would be Night Guards on the gate?

He couldn't think of anything else to try. He was too tired and angry, suppressing the grief. He wasn't thinking clearly enough.

'But Luna promised it would all be fine...'

Luna had lied.

Everything was going wrong. Everything had already gone wrong.

First Gloom, now Prey. It wasn't fair. The world just kept taking everything.

And something was very, very wrong.

Scenic nearly ran into him on the apartment block’s staircase, which he could no longer fly up.

"Crimson!" Scenic cried out. Then his face crumpled.

"Crimson. G-Gloom, he, he, I heard-I'm so sorry."

Scenic grabbed him, throwing his foreleg around his shoulders. Crimson was too empty to move. And then he was in too much pain to move.

The world greyed out for a while, and Crimson was only distantly aware he was sitting on the steps, weak legs having folded, while Scenic's tinny voice apologised and panicked.

Crimson wasn't Prey, but he didn't want to be touched either right now. He couldn't-But Scenic already knew. Who had told him that Gloom was, that Gloom was...?

The other stallion's forelegs were awkwardly trying to support him as he sat and gasped on the stairs. Scenic was blubbering and crying uselessly.

Crimson hurt. His chest hurt the worst. And his legs were shaking. He didn't feel strong enough to move. But he managed to thickly ask what he needed to know.

"Who told you? Did they say, say anything about Prey?"

Scenic was uselessly wiping at his scarred cheeks as more tears continued to fall, "G-Guard. A Night G-Guard, *sniff* came to my house. Said, she said, *sob*."

"I see. It was, it was horrible. There was a storm, and arrows, an', and..." Crimson struggled to breathe. He bent all his will to focusing, "Prey. Did the Guard say anything about Prey, or Luna? Or the trial?"

Scenic pulled back and looked at him, crying and red-eyed, and asked, "Who's Prey?"

The grey, distant ringing was back in Crimson's ears. He could barely hear his own muffled words. "Prey. Our friend. Prey. You know him. You must. We all do. Prey."

And Scenic's eyes just showed confusion and hurt. He shook his head, unable to speak further, before going back to awkwardly hugging Crimson and crying into his shoulder.

Crimson weakly shook Scenic, "Prey. Remember him! Why can't you remember?" He begged.

Scenic bonelessly flopped in Crimson's grip, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I, I don't *sob*, I want to help. I'm sorry. G-G, *sniff* Gloom. Oh Gloom..."

Grief, fear, pain, loss. And now sucking, black dread. His teeth were chattering.

What was happening?

First Scenic. Then Carton almost carrying Lilly found him next. Then even Saffron, having immediately blown off her job when the Night Guard had found her, leaving her agent scrambling to try to reorganise the photoshoot she'd been hired for.

They congregated on Crimson like magnets. Their friend was hurt. The unimaginably terrible had happened. There was no other option in their minds but to try and help.

They couldn't help. They couldn't fix anything. All they could do was be there.

Scenic's living room. It was the closest of their houses. Crimson's own flat had been out of the question. Crimson barely even remembered the painful walk here. It was just a dazed fog.

Saffron, Scenic, Carton, Lilly, they were all clustered around, pressed close. Crying, shifting, sitting in silence, rubbing the others’ backs, murmuring that it would be okay. Crimson was in the middle of them all on the couch. He couldn't feel the cushions’ texture. The world, the noise, the temperature, everything was just a flat grey. He felt frozen and trapped in time. And just trapped.

"Prey." He finally croaked out, "Who remembers Prey?"

Scenic didn't, Crimson already knew that, but what about them?

"Prey. Our friend, the little lamb. Does anyone remember at all?" He asked around desperately.

Confusion, blank stares, no recognition.

"What, *sniff* what are you talking about?" Carton asked, blowing her nose loudly as fresh tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Crimson looked around desperately. He pointed at Lilly, "Who gave you that meldwood leg? Who saved your life that night?"

Lilly jerked out of furiously glaring at the wall, eyes tight and red, "Huh?"

"Your leg, who did that?!"

"What? You know who-"

"Please. Just answer me. Who did that?"

Lilly swallowed, "You and, and S-Sargent Gloom did."

"That's, no-! That's wrong! I, I flew only to the woods, I brought it back, but who operated on you?" His words trembled.

But Lilly Blossom's face only showed incomprehension and misery, "Gloom did. He did. He s-saved my life." Her voice cracked.

No no no no. This was impossible. This was madness. Was he the mad one?

Black, dancing spots. His stomach was trying to rebel. He looked from one grief-crumpled face to the next, looking for anything-

-Nothing. He didn't see a single spark of recognition. They didn't know. They really didn't know.

Saffron wiped at her wet eyes, heedless of the green eyeshadow she streaked. Her agent had tried to send an aide after her to bring her back. They hadn't expected the supermodel to be able to actually run.

"Crimson, I don't think... any of us understand. Please, who was-?"

Crimson tore himself away from their desire to help. This couldn't be happening. It was literally impossible. Prey was real, not some figment of his imagination! He just needed to think. It was so very hard, but he had to focus and think.

'Did Prey do this? Make everyone forget? But how would he even...?'

Crimson remembered. Their very first case together as the ISND. Tulip Bed, a mother who could not remember her own foal. The young colt had been cut from her memory. 'Prey recognised it first. He said it was mind magic. This, this is also mind magic.'

But how? How?! The scope of it, to get to and alter everyone's memories, it was impossible! No one could have gone around the whole city in the span of one morning, gotten past every Guard, and tampered with every memory in the city of anyone who'd ever seen Prey.

'Is it just me? Am I the only one left?' He was going to be sick. He was so dizzy.

The others were trying to speak to him, or get him to speak. He couldn't even tell who it was, nor what they were trying to say.

Crimson pushed himself upright, staggering. A huge shape, Carton, tried to help him stand, or maybe tried to stop him from standing, he couldn't tell. He made it into Scenic's kitchen, comforting hooves brushed aside.

Bile and stomach acid splattered into the sink. He panted, head bowed over the metal sink, tap also splattered as he hadn't managed to swivel it out of the way in time. He fumbled to turn on the tap with a shaking hoof.

He ran the tap, throat burning and blankly staring at nothing in the swirling water.

'Am I going insane?'

Gloom was dead. Was Prey now dead too? Was this really actually real?

'Am I already insane?'

His head jerked up, barely even seeing the blurred shape of Scenic in his periphery. In desperation, he unfolded his good wing before his face, eyes darting down his pinions until-

-The disguised feather. It was there, it was real. Prey's gift. All of it had been real.

'This is real. Gloom is dead. And everyone has forgotten Prey.'

"...I, I, I'm the o-only one. J-just me left... I'm the o-only one now..."

Gentle bodies pressed against his sides, his injuries avoided. A foreleg across his shoulders, a head tucked against his neck, all supporting him. He couldn't tell who was who, only that it was the four of them.

Someone was repeating words over and over. At first, just grey noise. Finally though they registered, "...not alone. You're not alone. You're not alone."

They were all trying to comfort him. But he felt nothing. He wasn't just hearing the grey noise, he was the grey noise. They couldn't help. He didn't want them, he wanted Prey. He wanted Gloom.

Crimson knew it in his soul, deep down, that Prey was gone. He didn't know what had happened, what Strange, Luna, or Celestia had done. But he knew Prey wasn't coming back.

He was the only one left.

Every other story thread containing Prey had been cut. His was the only one left.

He had to carry on alone. That wasn't fair. It was asking too much. It was too hard.

Carton was saying something, a thudding in the ringing grey nothing. She shifted, her gentle bulk uncertainly turning. Scenic also said something, about a front door.

That thudding... it was knocking.

Knocking? Knocking at the front door. What did that mean? He couldn't think, he couldn't focus, he couldn't anything.

'Knocking means... means...?'

There was a duo of Royal Guards banging on Scenic's front door, demanding to know if Crimson was in the building. They had a summons for him to appear in the Palace.

Anger is a strange thing. More often than not, it is loud and direct. You are angry because something has angered you. You know what it is, and where to direct that anger.

Yet it is not always. Anger can be a strange beast, like a deadly puff adder. It coils in the long grass, unmoving, not hot, nor cold, not aggressive or defensive. The adder merely sits there until someone steps near it.

It does not put itself in the person's path. It does not move to avoid their path. It does not strike out of fear, nor defending territory. It does not even bite out of hunger. It bites simply because it is there, and someone stepped by it.

Anger can be like that. It can sink its poisoned fangs into you simply because you took that one step too close.

And now, Crimson was angry. He kept it all inside, holding it crushingly close and burning it like firewood in his chest. It was the fuel that allowed him to keep going, to rise past the pain and exhaustion to limp all the way back to the Palace, through wide corridors and up gilt stairs as the two Royal Guards tried to hurry him along.

He held the snake of anger close, kept it hidden, because he'd been bitten and no one could see the marks.

The anger was greater than the thudding pain in his wing and side caused by every breath, stronger than the savage pulling in his damaged hindleg with every step. It meant he didn't care about his appearance, about his wild look or sweat-stained red coat. Hidden in his pinions, the electrite feather sat warm, lending him strength.

It wasn't hate, it was anger. The two were different, because he did not know where to direct his anger yet. Crimson knew the difference as he limped up the marble and gold hallway.

Prey had confided in him once about his hate, even if he'd never explained the 'why' for the wastes of black, arctic, frozen hate.

Crimson had just landed on their apartment block’s balcony. Prey had been there already, staring out over the balcony railing at the distant Palace.

"I hate her, you know."

He'd paused in folding his wings, "Pardon?"

"I hate her so much."

The words were so light, so tremulous, so unable to hold the weight behind them, that they were almost wistful.

"Who? Do you mean... Princess Luna?"

"Yes. Her. And more. Her sister. The sun."

And to that, he'd had nothing to say.

Why though? Why did he hate her? Prey had never said. Crimson hadn't pressed, he hadn't needed to, and because he'd always thought there would be time in the future to-

That future was gone. Prey was gone. Gloom was gone. 'Taken.'

He'd thought that Prey would one day tell him if it became important enough.

It was important now. Because the royal summons had not come from Luna, his sworn liege lord.

The summons had come framed in gold and red. It had come borne by two Royal Guards. It had come from all the way at the top.

From Princess Celestia, Sol Invictus, most renowned of all Equestrians in all of history.

The snake of anger coiled in his chest. It sat there, waiting for someone else to bite, to complete the link and to become hate. It wasn't seeking out a victim, but nor would it discriminate. Someone was eventually going to step on it, and then it would bite. It was that simple.

The adder didn't see the crushed velvet curtains, the glitter of rubies set in portrait frames, the spacious white marble hallways, or the soft red carpet underhoof. It didn't see any beauty. Neither did Crimson. Wealth had never meant anything to the three of them.

'One. One of us. Me. Not three.' It kept slipping out of his mind, his instinctual reaction being to think 'us' and then in the next instant he would remember all over again.

Through the Palace, deeper and deeper. One grand staircase, then the next. They'd left the Guard section of the Palace far behind. Every single item, decoration, and gilded hallway was only increasing in opulence the further he was lead.

He'd known, but it only registered now to Crimson that this wasn't the way to the Day Court. Never had been either. This was the Royal section of the Palace. But the two Royal Guards on either side of him were unerringly marching him on without turning aside.

They took him right through, right up to the guarded and golden double doors of the most powerful pony in the whole world's personal quarters.

The pair of Guards already waiting at attention by the doors were expecting them as the other two led Crimson up. They didn't say a word about Crimson's appearance, but Crimson still saw it in their eyes.

They didn't recognise him out of his armour, didn't know why their princess would allow an injured vagabond into her sacred personal quarters. They didn't know about Haven Hay. They didn't know anything.

The anger waited for one of any of them to step on it, uncaring of who it was. Because someone eventually would.

"Passcode?" The unicorn on the right asked.

"It is good to laugh." Crimson’s two escorts answered almost as one.

"Your Majesty," The left unicorn Guard reached back and knocked respectfully without turning, "Your summoned guest is here."

He was about to be shown in to see Celestia. Right now.

Crimson stood there on three legs and hobbled, blinking. These four ponies had lives and stories, too. They must've grown up, perhaps by a single parent, maybe not. Maybe with siblings, maybe not. Friends, Equestrian schooling, training, mistakes. These four people meant nothing to Crimson in that moment. He didn't care if they lived or died. They were nothing, pieces of furniture or statues. Unless one of them turned themselves into more than just background by stepping on the coiled snake of his anger.

None of them did. A murmured voice, gentle and warm came from behind the gold and mahogany doors. Crimson forgot the four Guards, just swept them from his mind as one of the double doors cracked open.

They weren't important. The person waiting beyond the gold-plated door might be though, if she could tell him anything about Prey. If she could even remember.

The door had barely opened a hoof wide. It was inlaid with a beautiful mother-of-pearl carving which formed a sun. None of the four forgotten Guards were allowed to see inside or follow him in as he slipped through the crack.

With no visible means, the door quietly shut behind his bedraggled tail.

Three things; gold, light, and heat. The moment he was inside, all struck Crimson like a hammer blow.

He was blinded, staggered, and overwhelmed.

Gold, on every surface and item, making the light within the room so much more bright, reflecting off of every surface. He couldn't see for a few dizzying seconds until his squinting eyes adjusted.

But there was no adjusting to the baking heat. It was like taking a step forwards and finding yourself in the middle of the scorching desert. Crimson realised it was coming from the blazing fire roaring in the fireplace.

It was the middle of the afternoon. Sunset was still hours away. It was the beginning of summer, and the day had already been unusually hot. But still a huge fire was blazing in the central fireplace, stacked coals white hot. Glittering orange gems set into the reinforced fireplace glowed dimly with enchantments, as they further enhanced the emitted heat.

Yet reclining barely a hoof away from the flames was the huge form of the second most graceful person Crimson had ever seen. Celestia, her fur like beautiful ivory, and mane the ever-changing living light of the aurora borealis.

And yet, and yet... as Crimson's abused and watering eyes adjusted further to the glow... the first thing that came into Crimson's mind for a reason he couldn't quite put his hoof on was; tired.

When Celestia unhurriedly turned her graceful swan neck and smiled at him, her horn putting her at the same height as him even when lying down- although he couldn't see any evidence or sign in the lay of her fur or limbs, looking at Princess Celestia, all he could think of was a thin veneer hiding bone-deep exhaustion.

"Welcome, Crimson Trace. Thank you for accepting my invitation."

There had been no invitation. It had been a summons.

Crimson blinked, eyes watering from the light and heat, slowly coming back to himself. He looked at Celestia. He made the conscious decision to bow to her instead of respect automatically demanding it, "Princess Celestia."

Indifferent, the snake of anger sat in his chest, merely waiting for a target.

'Will it be you?'

Ten seconds passed as the fire blazed away. Ten painful, too-fast breaths as Crimson tried to wait patiently.

But he couldn't manage it, not when Gloom and Prey were gone. Not when the one whom Strange Happenstance had let slip might be responsible was laying right here in front of him.

Crimson's jaw worked, "Princess-", The title had never felt more misshapen and oversized in his mouth.

"-Is this... does this have anything to do with, with Prey?"

"Aaaaah..." The resting princess sighed knowingly and with resignation, "So you do still remember."

Crimson's whole body went stiff, every muscle locking up. The snake stared at Celestia. The next moment, it was all he could do to not scream at the princess and demand answers.

"You said; 'you do still remember', meaning you do too. You remember Prey. Why? How? What happened? Wha-Where is he? Why can't Scenic or- why can't anyone else?! What's happening? I mean, Princess."

"We'll address that in a moment," Celestia non-answered. Her brilliant flowing mane drifted into the blazing fire for a moment without any harm. "But first I need you to answer a question for me."

"But-"

"This is very important, Crimson Trace. Please tell me truthfully, what was Prey?"

Crimson stared, uncomprehending. Something dark stirred in his gut, about this nation who treated outsiders as second-class citizens.

"Is that a trick question?" He asked, very slowly, "What was Prey? He's a sheep, a lamb."

Then the terminology finally registered. 'Was', not 'is'.

The anger held utterly still, only one inch closer and it would bite, "Was. You said was. What do you mean, was? Where is Prey right now-?"

Celestia effortlessly spoke over him, her soft voice somehow still drowning him out, "Ah, no. I don't mean his species. I meant what was Prey to you, Crimson?"

The stifling hot air dried out his mouth, "Prey is, Prey's my friend. My best friend."

"Is that the truth? The whole truth?" Celestia prodded, her motherly face kind but unreadable beneath that.

A spark of condensed fury burned Crimson's tongue. She suggested he was lying? And lying about this?

"Prey is my best, my absolute dearest friend. Princess."

"I am... glad to hear that, I suppose." Celestia said. Crimson was thrown off balance.

She went on: "Friendship is magical, and without it, life is not worth living. Not even one year, let alone a thousand is worth it, believe me. I want every one of my little ponies to find friendship in their lives. So despite everything Prey did, I am glad for your sake, if not his."

Celestia shifted then, her head finally turning the last few inches away from the blazing heat of the fire to fully look at him, "It does make me wonder, however..."

"Where's Prey?" Crimson demanded bluntly, no longer able to restrain himself, "What have you done with him?"

"It makes me wonder.... why you haven't forgotten, when everypony else has? Did you know? Even my own dear sister has forgotten. While it is for the best, especially when she is already so burdened by recent tragedy, but while it makes many issues decidedly simpler... I am still deeply unsettled. Luna talks about an ISND, but swears there were only ever two ponies. You can't understand the gravity of that. But you, Crimson Trace, haven't forgotten. A dark force which could tamper with my own sister's memory, and yet you can remember. Why?"

Crimson stared straight back at her, "I don't know. And I don't care, not unless you know how to undo whatever it is."

"You don't care?" Celestia didn't seem to have been expecting his honest answer.

"Where's Prey? That's what's important. Gloom has-Where is Prey? I need him."

Celestia studied him with her wise magenta eyes, that again subtly didn't look right somehow. Not alert nor bright enough.

"So you truly didn't know anything."

"Didn't know what?!" His voice was rising, his injuries correspondingly also somehow hurting more.

"Please sit down first, and pull up a cushion. For your own good."

"Just answer. Just tell me! Where is Prey?"

"Sit down first." Celestia ordered, like a tutting mother.

There were so many reasons not to sit down, to not let Celestia give him orders even if she was a Princess. But none of them would get Crimson any closer to what he so desperately wanted. Answers.

Crimson limped across the plush rug to a stack of huge, golden silk floor cushions, each embroidered like a work of art. Painfully, he pulled off the topmost one and dragged it over. He could have sat on the rug, so deep and plush was it, and would have been just as comfortable. Celestia didn't levitate the pillow for him despite his bandaged injuries, an act which surely would've only taken her a single moment of effort, and would have sped this meeting up.

The burning heat from the fire was far too much for him. He stiffly sat on the pillow at the border of his heat tolerance, all the while Celestia patiently watched.

"What happened? Where is Prey? Please."

The large alicorn was studying him again. Her lips minutely pursed, "Before I explain, you will need to solemnly swear to a condition first."

His teeth ached in his gums he gritted them so hard, "What condition?"

"As one of my little ponies, your wellbeing is important to me. You need to swear to me Crimson Trace, that you will not give up when you still have all your other friends who need you, and you who needs them."

Disgust. It filled his stomach enough to make him sick. How? How could the two Royal Sisters be so different? How could he serve one and yet now despise the other's attitude so thoroughly?

He served Luna. He didn't owe Celestia any promise. But for the sake of answers, he nodded.

"I need a verbal response, please."

"Yes, your majesty." He stated flatly.

Celestia leaned an inch closer on her cushion, which somehow still wasn't catching alight, towards the flames.

"I'm not trying to draw this out to make you suffer, I promise you. It is simply that there is no good way to explain what happened. And I'm so very sorry that the truth of what I'm about to tell you will shatter your memory of the friendship you had with the one you knew as Prey."

It suddenly became very obvious to Crimson that Celestia didn't know what she was talking about. He'd intuitively expected coming into this meeting that a princess would know more than him. But she didn't. Did she think she was about to reveal some deep, dark secret about Prey that he didn't already know?

One instant he was darkly amused, the next he was abruptly afraid. Was Celestia about to reveal some deep dark secret about Prey? It didn't matter to him what it was, it would never matter, but it mattered that Celestia knew. What had she done to Prey to discover it?!

'Did Prey lie to protect me? She doesn't think I know anything. He must've tricked her. Whatever it is, she doesn't understand that I'm also guilty of many crimes.' Crimson instinctively knew Prey wouldn't have let slip anything which would've also incriminated him to Celestia, truth or not.

His chest hurt. His wounds hurt too. Everything seemed to only exist because it liked to see him hurting.

He didn't want to hear this. He needed to hear this.

"What... what is...? Just what?" He croaked out.

"I will keep this concise. The specifics and historical dates... well, those won't mean anything to you, nor the magical theory behind it. For your sake, I will stick to the base facts only. Please, don't ask questions. Even I don't understand the deeper methods, nor will I lower myself to trying for something so dark."

Celestia took a deep breath while Crimson froze with dread, "There once was an evil, wicked witch called Selenia..."

Prey had once let slip the name of his home village. Once. Rushweed. Where his last surviving family, his mother and brother, were supposed to be waiting for him.

Prey said he wrote letters to them every week. Prey said he'd gone to visit while the rest of them were on the secret mission in Griffonia.

Crimson had always known there was something wrong. He'd thought it had been strained bonds between family, since Prey never spoke about them. Yet he'd still known without a shadow of a doubt Prey had loved them dearly.

'It was a lie.' Not the love, never the love. The lie had been that they'd still been alive.

'Prey lied to me. He never told me the truth about them.'

It hurt. Because now he knew Prey had always been too broken to confess that terrible truth, even to him, and he hadn't ever noticed.

It hurt, with a ripped-open and steaming, bleeding freshness.

But that hurt was a pale whisper standing in the shadow of the pain caused by Celestia confessing that Prey was dead.

'The sun rises. The sun sets. But we all have to cross the river someday.'

The fire blazed away in the lavish gold room.

Crimson blankly looked at Celestia, and wondered if he could kill her.

Princess Celestia, one of the most important people alive, the raiser of the sun, ruler and protector of Equestria for millennia. Sister of his liege lord, architect of so very many years of peace and prosperity. He looked at her, and all he could think about was if he could kill her.

'No. Because she's immortal. She can't die. I can't kill her.'

Not because it was wrong. But because it was physically impossible.

A target had provided itself, the adder of anger had struck, and bitten down on unbreakable iron.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair.

Celestia lived, because she was immortal. She physically couldn't die. While Prey was gone. A doll, some kind of creation, it didn't matter. Prey had been Prey, and Prey had been alive.

And now Prey was gone, and Celestia was still here.

Only now he understood the furnace of hate that singular truth had lit inside of Prey. He had never hated people for having what he didn't, like Prey had. Now though, he finally understood it.

Celestia was immortal. But Prey was mortal. And the immortal had taken what little time the mortal had. Just like that.

"That isn't fair."

"Fair?" Celestia tilted her great head, "What are you referring to? It was always fair. Everypony has their fair and allotted time on this land, and when it's up, they must move on. It may not feel it, but as somepony who has seen the years pass, I can assure you; time is always fair. Harsh, but fair."

Crimson's wings, both injured and not, were clamped so very tightly to his sides. His wound was shooting agony. He needed that agony, needed it to hurt so badly that he couldn't draw enough breath to stand up from his cushion or else he would be attacking Celestia.

"You're a Princess. You're supposed to know best. You. Murdered. My. Friend. And you, you, you're justifying it to my face. Like, because, because-! Because you're the Princess so you can get away with it."

"I have not killed anypony. I outlawed the despicable practice of execution for a very good reason. It was not I, it was merely time finally catching back up to Prey-"

"You made that happen, you stole his life support. You killed my f-friend!" He shouted at the immortal princess.

For the first time during this entire meeting the expressed kindness and patience in Celestia's eyes faded away. Hard tiredness was all that was left, "Please stop throwing those false accusations around. Especially outside of this room-"

"You-!" His attempt to throw her words back in her face were completely talked over, centuries of speechmaking allowing the task to be effortless for the alicorn.

"-I know you're upset and struggling to accept what had to happen, so I'm allowing you this chance to express those feelings. I'm offended, and disappointed in you, but I can empathise with where you are coming from. So for today, you're free within the confines of this room to say what you need to say. However, once you leave, you won't be allowed to continue making such false accusations any longer. Freedom of speech is a right for all my little ponies, but slander is not."

Crimson wanted to see her beautiful face running with blood, wanted to see that long horn snapped off and nailed through her own eye socket. He wanted her to hurt as much as he was hurting right now, in body and in heart. The heat of the hate burnt the air from his lungs, and it shocked him. Crimson was no stranger to hate. His dead clan had seen to that. This hate though, it scared him.

Because Celestia was supposed to protect. She was a Princess. He'd always known in the back of his head that she protected this nation. And now he found out she wasn't like that. He felt utterly betrayed.

Crimson had hated others in the past, but since his exile and the second chance he was granted by Luna, he'd been trying to detach himself from hating like that ever again. Because he'd seen in dark, unguarded moments, the foul forever-hatred staining Prey's eyes, and realised how ugly it made the lamb, and like a reflection in a mirror, realised he didn't want to go back to that.

Only now did he fully understand his younger self's wisdom. Because this hate... he was hurting himself, his muscles clenched, his stitched wounds were screaming, but he was hurting himself because he hated Celestia so much that he was doing it anyways, in the insane, twisted desire that his pain would somehow transport across space and inflict even a fraction of itself on her.

'This is madness.' His heart pounded fit to burst, a painful, over-strained drum. He was scaring himself.

He didn't want this hate. All he wanted was his two friends back. Gloom and Prey.

Crimson was still just a person freshly stabbed by raw grief. It had been mere days, days! In three days he'd lost Gloom and Prey both. He was still reeling, he hadn't accepted or reconciled anything yet.

Grief, pain, loss. It had been there before this sudden onslaught of raging hate.

Under it all, he was still the same as every other victim of sudden, unforeseen, and cruel tragedy.

Hate, even this black hate, stood in the shadow of his grief.

"I just, I only... I only w-want Gloom and Prey back."

He wanted the impossible. Except it wasn't impossible, Prey had said so.

But he wasn't Prey. He couldn't do what Prey could. He didn't know how.

So he asked the only other person in the whole world who could still remember:

"Please. Can you not just... bring them both back? With the Elements of Harmony, I mean. Please?"

He asked, even though he knew the answer he would get before Celestia ever slowly shook her graceful head, empathetic yet uncompromising.

"I'm sorry you feel this way, but that has always been beyond anypony's power, even mine. Once somepony has gone beyond, they can never return. You know this."

'Lie.' What he knew was what Prey had told him was possible. But what did his knowledge matter? Not one whit.

It didn't matter if Celestia was purposefully lying to him, thinking he was just grasping at straws and couldn't possibly know about the secret power of the Elements of Harmony. What did the truth matter when her refusal would remain the same either way?

Celestia had always been going to refuse his plea. Hadn't he just listened to her calmly explain her uncompromising logic for murdering Prey to his face? She was incapable of understanding what he was asking for.

She was saying something even now, but Crimson didn't care. He just didn't care. She was so useless, sitting here in the comfort of her golden room, a fire built scorching hot, and relaxing in the middle of the day.

"...I mourn when any of my little ponies grieve. However. However... no, I cannot lie, even to spare your feelings. I will give you the truth. I'm glad he's gone. I would not bring back that thing you called your friend even if I could." For that brief moment, her, the master politician of centuries, her face twisted into the rawness of honesty.

Fear. A hunted look. That was what Crimson saw in that moment of purest honesty before Celestia could cover her true feelings once again, smother them in that porcelain mask. Then she realised what she'd just said.

"Oh my, I didn't mean..." The princess realised it was too late, that Crimson knew, and that she couldn't cover it up.

She dropped the attempt at obviously-fake lightheartedness, purposefully chosen as a red herring in this crafted meeting. Instead she sighed. The breath shook as it left her lungs:

"...Ah-ah-hhh-hh. You don't understand. You can't. You weren't there. You didn't see what he did at the end. What he'd had ready and prepared to unleash all along out of spite. You can't-you didn't fight it. You didn't see. You didn't see..." She repeated in a whisper to herself.

The fire blazed. The huge white alicorn was leaning in so close to the source of heat now that the tongues of flame were practically licking her ivory fur.

Crimson's body hurt. He was so tired. But he still felt a crawling shiver scuttle up his neck beneath his sweat-soaked mane as he heard that. It whispered with cruel satisfaction, because he'd known Prey. That he would never have gone quietly. Acid bombs in a forest, and a thestral clan who would never hurt anyone again.

For just a moment, the anger surged up high enough to barely submerge the grief. His exhausted muscles bunched as he bent aggressively forwards over the cushion, "Really? Do tell."

Celestia didn't seem to hear. She was staring over his head at something only she could see.

A coal cracked loudly in the fire. Celestia's eyes flickered, and she returned to the present. She cleared her throat, "Crimson Trace, did you ever... do you perhaps know anything about the caves under Canterlot? Did Prey ever mention anything about them to you, anything at all? Please, think hard, this is of vital importance."

Crimson hated lies. But he didn't feel even the smallest twinge as he answered without any hesitation, "No. He never said anything. Why?"

"I did not know at the time, and it is too late to ask now, but... it seems that the cave tunnels underneath my city are... 'infected'. I would know if there was another one of those things down there, but there could still be any number of other-"

Celestia cut herself off abruptly and suddenly. She started on a different track, "I need you to help me, specifically my Solar Guard, to search those caves. Even if it was all a deception, you were still the pony who knew Prey best when alive. If you can lend any insight at all, that's all that matters."

"Me."

"Yes, Crimson. I need you to start searching through those old caves as soon as possible. You'll have the best equipment money can buy and foremost expert cavers around to assist you in addition to my Solar-"

"Me. Go down into some tunnels... why?"

"Because of what might still be down there. If so, it must be found and eliminated as soon as possible, for the safety of all of Canterlot." Celestia stated with grim sincerity. "Only you can still remember him, and that's important. Perhaps deep down, he really did see you as a friend. If so, you will be safer than anypony else down there. You are the best, the only pony for this task."

Crimson stared blankly at her. She was serious. She was completely and totally serious.

She was asking him, Crimson, Prey's friend, whom she'd killed, to go down there and clear out Prey's work for her. Never even mind he'd promised Prey to never risk venturing back under the mountain, never mind that he wouldn't have the first clue of what to do, never mind all of that.

She was asking him, within minutes of confessing to killing Prey, to trust her over Prey.

Any slight chance of reconciliation, no matter how tiny it had been, or not even that but rather of distant trust in her capability as a ruler if not in her personally, died right then.

'I serve Luna. Not you. Never you.'

Crimson dredged up a beaming smile, exactly like one Prey might've worn. It hurt his cheeks and eyes, "Princess Celestia. I could absolutely never do that."

Celestia started, her long horn jerking up, "But you need to. This is a matter of national importance! You can't even begin to imagine the consequences of what might happen if we don't..."

His teeth ached in his gritted smile, "Even more reason to refuse. So; no."

Surprise. Incomprehension that he would refuse. Surely she wasn't so stupid, she had centuries of wisdom. How could it not be obvious to her?

"You said Prey was evil. You just said that. You said I did not know him. You said he was dangerous. And now you're saying he had some kind of secret trap in some caves somewhere? You forget, I worked with Prey. I'm not going anywhere near those caves."

Prey had begged him to promise to never go down into those cold, dark stone tunnels again. He had given his word. Spiting Celestia and making her believe he was doing this just for himself and not also for Prey only made it all the more bittersweet.

"Oh, I understand now. You're afraid. I completely understand."

A bark, or a sob, but nothing like a laugh burst out of Crimson's chest, "You're not wrong, your majesty."

Just not afraid of what she thought he was afraid of. Maybe if he was less of an obvious mess, maybe if she was less distracted, maybe the Princess wouldn't have been fooled.

"I understand. You thought you knew him, but as a Guard, I need you to be brave and overcome that fear. You could be saving many of my ponies’ lives." Celestia assured him.

Crimson emphatically shook his head, unkempt and dirty mane whipping in his eyes, "No, nope nope definitely no. No. I decline. No. I want to live."

"You know it's the right thing, the only thing to do. I can make it an order if it helps." Celestia offered.

Crimson's unhappy smile hurt even worse as it stretched further upwards, "Well, yes, it does. Kind of, I mean. In a way. Because I quit."

"Pardon me?"

"I quit. I mean, I resign as a Night Guard. I'm not doing it. I'm not going down into those caves. Never."

The solar alicorn seemed at a genuine loss. Her lips were parted, but nothing was coming out. If he'd had his helmet or badge on, he would've thrown them on the floor.

Crimson struggled to painfully rise to his hooves, the sweat caused by the blazing fire leaving a damp patch on the gold cushion. His weak legs traitorously shook on him, "I'm sorry for wasting your time, your majesty, but apparently I can't help you. I won't waste any more of it. Good luck dealing with your problem."

"No, you don't understand. There could be another one down there, incubating or growing. If there is it has to be destroyed now." Celestia's voice rose, not the Royal Canterlot Voice, just the rising alarm of a mare scared.

Crimson started shuffling backwards towards the door, never taking his eyes off her. Swiftly, Celestia visibly calmed herself, "You don't understand." She repeated, but her tone carried the trill of desperation. "And I really need you to understand."

"Am I under arrest, Princess?" Crimson asked, no, dared her. Even though he knew she could get away with whatever she wanted, he couldn't help but still dare her to try. "Because otherwise, I'm going to leave."

"Of course you're not under arrest, just- just wait. A moment, please! I need you to understand the importance of this. You can't comprehend the threat of that... of what... earlier today, I had to fight something Prey had kept hidden down there. I teleported it away from Canterlot, and I fought it. You need to understand this, Crimson Trace. I nearly lost."

The shameful admission took force for the alicorn to get out, but still she said it, no matter how hard she choked.

Crimson's battered face slipped into blankness. He slowly blinked sunken, red-rimmed amber eyes, then said with complete honesty, "Then there really is absolutely nothing more I could contribute if even you could barely manage to slay whatever monster it was."

Somehow, Celestia didn't seem to have considered that obvious point either. That someone might see an impossible task, and simply walk away instead of wasting their time trying. Was something wrong with her? It was so obvious to Crimson. You didn't go into a hydra's lair, you turned around and flew away.

"You still don't understand," Celestia said softly, "Let me show how dire this is, then. I know you don't hold any love for me after today, but you serve my sister loyally-"

'Served.' Crimson twitched. Not anymore. Not after this. All he wanted was to fly away until he couldn't fly any longer, but he couldn't even do that.

"-So for her, please do this. Because I can't risk anything happening to her ever again. And I don't have the strength to fight another hungry thing."

Crimson twitched again, shock at the same name Prey had once used. It sounded like something she’d named out of experience.

"-I don't want to risk her having to fight, to pay the price, for any of this to have to happen to her too."

Princess Celestia's whole visage, laying on the cushion right up against the fire, flickered. Her heavy golden regalia melted away into thin air. Then the famous living rainbow of her ever-changing mane faded into nothing like the illusion it turned out to be.

In its place, the illusion removed, the real Princess Celestia reclined in exactly the same position, but one that was much different.

Crimson squinted. For a moment, he thought the pain, exhaustion, and grief had distorted his vision. But when he furiously blinked sore, gritty eyes, they were still showing him the same sight.

Celestia's mane and tail were dull, unmoving pink. Still the longest of any he’d ever seen, but- normal. Just normal pink. Not living any longer. Drained.

Her face was sallow with tiredness, skin grey under her now drab white fur, and eyes ringed with a bone-deep weariness he knew all too well. Princess Celestia was physically the largest pony known. Yet she looked shrunken. She didn't look big and strong right now, huddling up to the fire.

She looked cold. Somehow, the alicorn of the sun looked like a survivor of a deep and dark blizzard. It was jarring, as if a fact previously accepted as unassailable, like grass being green, was suddenly in question. Celestia was cold.

Then his eyes skirted downwards from her face, drawn to where the illusion of her famous regalia had rested. Crimson's shallow breath caught in the back of his dry throat.

But alicorns were immortal. Weren't they?

Celestia had a cluster of mismatched holes bored into her flesh. The surrounding fur had receded from the shrivelled wounds, leaving the exposed flesh ashen, dry, almost crumbling.

There was no blood, no seeping. The wound holes were withered shut, like the life had been sucked right out. It came into Crimson's mind from somewhere that it looked almost exactly like dried fish meat.

But immortal didn't mean invulnerable, did it?

"What...?"

The fatal, horrible grey holes in Celestia's flesh couldn't kill her, she was sitting there, alive. But she was not invulnerable anymore.

"I'm not healing. I've expended so much power, but they won't..."

Suppressed, she was trying to control it. The pain was well hidden in her words. Not well enough. It's so hard to act convincingly when you're in pain. Crimson knew, because he was in pain right now.

He stared. 'Won't heal' she'd almost said. Won't heal, even for an immortal. He had never expected anything like this. It suddenly came to him what the wounds reminded him of.

Like the suckers on a mama'duke's tentacles. If those suckers had each been the mouth of a leech. It must have only been a glancing contact, only mere seconds, and yet the wound was still, or would have been, horrifically fatal to anyone else. The withered wounds were deceptively deep. As a warrior, Crimson instantly knew the wound was many times worse than it actually looked.

In stunned shock, Crimson swept his eyes up and down the rest of the princess' frame. What he saw was scars. Fresh. Nicks and slashes of the same grey, withered flesh that weren't healing, the white fur burnt away.

Crimson didn't know what abomination Prey had created, what thing he'd been keeping contained down in those caves. But it had been enough to all but kill an immortal. His spite took deep satisfaction at that.

How Prey would have laughed if he could still have been here to see this.

Prey was gone. But Celestia was going to remember him for every day of the rest of her immortal life.

"This is a state secret of the highest order. It cannot get out. Understand that it will count as treason if you talk of this. Ponies cannot know, they need to keep believing or else there will be mass panic. Innocents will die by accident if that occurs, and I will not allow it. I need to recover my strength first, I need- it might take years. I expended so much of my power..."

With a pained tremble in her hoof, Celestia very gently poked at the deadly wounds in her chest, "This, this might not ever heal-"

Crimson heard the raw fear in those words.

"-But I must at least recover my full strength. Equestria cannot appear weak, not now. The only reason I'm showing you is because you need to understand the gravity of the situation. I cannot defeat another one of those monsters, and, if my sister has to take my place-"

She cut off that line before Crimson could ask what he truly wanted to know. She fixed him with her gaze: tired, hurt, and afraid.

"You must lead the search, you're the best chance I- we have of uncovering if there is another thing hidden down there. Canterlot and Luna need you."

And yet even now, she still just didn't get it.

"No."

Crimson began limping for the door, "If there is another such monster, I'm not going down there to die. I just quit, so I'm not a Guard anymore, and you can't order me. And any other Guards you send in will just die too. You can't even force me. Arrest me, drag me down to the caves in chains, whatever. I will simply refuse to move. I will become the biggest liability I can possibly manage to be to any search party I am attached to."

Breathing heavily, he reached the golden double doors, "I have already given everything I could to your nation. Equestria has taken everything else. I'm not giving it anything more."

The princess didn't call after him or order him to halt. No magical aura blocked his way either. Crimson viciously liked to imagine it was because Celestia was still too weak and too stunned by a pony daring to say no to her face. But he couldn't know, and he refused to turn back and look.

His leg hurt. His wing hurt. His chest hurt. His eyes stung so badly. His thirst was excruciating. He just wanted to be out of this too-hot room, and away from the terrible revelations he'd learnt inside.

He fumbled with the handle once, twice, his hooves shaking. He used his good wing in the end. He just wanted out. He wanted away, he wanted a dark corner where no one would find him, and he wanted to cry.

'Gloom... Prey... why have you left me all alone against the tide? I'm struggling. I can't fly. I need help. I'm going to drown...'

In his fevered imagination, he looked down. Down, down, down there in the deep, he imagined he saw three still figures floating. Their eyes were closed. They were waiting for him to sink and join them in the crushing silence of the depths. A lamb, and two thestral stallions. All taken before their time.

Princess Celestia, goddess of the sun. Wise and experienced ruler of more than a thousand years, who had seen Equestria through many dark years in the annals of history. Hers was one of longest running, most all-encompassing, far reaching, and important stories in the entire world, for because of hers, so many other stories existed.

Princess Luna, the shadowy second alicorn, sister to the day and ward of the night. Banished and forgotten for so long, only recently returned. And since then, she had devoted her efforts into earning back her place in Equestria. Failures and misunderstandings, all these had beset Luna at every turn. Hers was a tale of sheer bloody-minded stubbornness while pushing forwards down a path she was dead certain on being the right one, while incapable of seeing the ants she trod over to get there.

Scenic Paint, more fondly known as Paint Spot to those close to him. A story of someone snatched from a life he understood and thrown into vicious, terrifying danger. He'd seen the cruel jaws of the world, and his goal since then had been to escape those teeth at every turn. A stallion who knew he was far from perfect, but who wanted to be worthy of the love of his life and, hopefully soon, marry her. His was also a story that had recently been stabbed with the sting of sudden tragedy.

That same tragedy was one which cruelly afflicted more than one life and story. Carton Juice had her own thread wound up with Scenic Paint's. Hers was a simple, homely, and fulfilling story of basic goodness, and of simple acts of kindness every day.

Saffron Swirl. A story of a life which had been hard, although not dangerous, right from its conception. Of a noblemare of a famous lineage subsequently disowned, despairing, fallen, and then raised back up by the strength of her own legs, no matter how much those legs trembled and shook even now. A story of a battle against depression that was still ongoing.

Lilly Blossom, a story of an angry filly, an angry teenager, an angry young adult, and then a violently shaken and awoken Guard. A Guard who woke up and looked around, and realised the world was filled with giants who would step on her and not even notice. A mare who dug deep down, with a lot of help, to unearth the determination to say, "I will not get stepped on. I will be better than those giants".

There were other stories, too. So very many. Stories like Nighthawk's, Captain of the so-recently-rebuilt Night Guard. A stallion doggedly loyal to his ideals, those being the ideals of his ancient Princess. Raised in a hard, rough life, one dedicated to tradition, and grimly prepared to defend the ideals of those traditions.

So many varied story threads. Some directly interwoven, and others only joined by a common overarching thread they all tangentially touched, like that of Celestia's. Cookie, a cook for the Guard kitchens. An older mare who'd lived her life, was comfortable with her husband, and was looking to wind down into retirement where she could do her duty properly browbeating the young and stupid ponies of today.

Taffy Hopes, smoothly shuffling pages of reports in her magic, sitting in her paperwork-stuffed office. A mare who lived in the now and let tomorrow take care of itself. Someone who liked their job, liked the contact, liked to talk, and liked to feel she made a difference. She was deeply proud of her other, secret job. A simple, frankly boring secret job. Hers really wasn't a complicated story. Sometimes, that was just life; a mundane story. It had its secrets, as did every life, but that didn't make it complicated.

That story, and many more besides. Wherever there's a person, there will also be a story. Like the other Night Guards. Or like Randy Pickaxe. Simple earth pony, park gardener, content, hardworking, humble, a fondness for spicy food, some issues with future planning, perhaps even sometimes wilfully blind to mares’ faults, and far from perfect. A person.

These stories. Other stories. More stories. Lives being lived.

There is always another story out there, and it's not about you.

The world doesn't care, it doesn't read the book of life. It just tramples over everyone in its path.

The world kept marching forwards. Time didn't suddenly come to an end. All these stories continued being woven.

But none of those story threads were Prey's anymore.

Crimson staggered up one step, then the next. The walls of the apartment block’s staircase were swimming in his vision. He was barely even aware. Sweat-drenched, fur filthy, bandages dirtied.

The evening sun shone. As he limped past at a crawl, ponies inside their flats were talking, moving, going about their evening. They didn't even realise there was a pony struggling with everything he had left just to make it up two flights of stairs.

How long did it take Crimson to make the climb, and then down the corridor to the two joint flats at the end? Time seemed to be warping, the ground stretching out in front of his hooves. Or was it sleep deprivation? Maybe fever?

He got the front door open somehow. He didn't remember where he'd even gotten his key. Or had he forgotten to lock it?

Past the threshold and in the cool shadow of the passageway, he stood for a moment as his failing brain finally caught up to where he was.

The two closed apartment doors waited at the end, facing each other. One of them was his, number 31B. He looked at the other door.

He cried again. It was messy and wet. Still crying, he dragged his body with the last bit of the strength he didn't know a person could even possess into his flat.

He saw the blurred red shape of his blood fern, set on the windowsill as he barely made it to the bed.

There, he finally collapsed.

Crimson was so far gone he couldn't even tell if he laid there a while or not before unconsciousness claimed him.

Luna was waiting for him in the dream realm, an outline filled in with a swatch of starry night. No face or expression made up of swirling galaxies and constellations this time. Just an outline.

Crimson hadn't anything he wanted to say to her. He knew now she hadn't lied to him, that it had been Celestia's actions, not hers. Luna hadn't lied, but she had still failed in her promise. A promise she couldn't even recall making now.

She couldn't remember Prey, and all they'd sacrificed in her service together. She instead had come to try to offer him comfort only over Gloom's death.

Crimson couldn't bear the thought of even looking at Luna, even if she had chosen to cloak her face here. He wanted nothing to do with her. Perhaps she understood that. The scent of cool night wind imparted her words to his sleeping mind, as her presence carefully withdrew.

"Our sister came to us earlier this day, prevailing upon us to impress upon you the importance of undertaking her request. However, that is not what we came to say. Our sister is wise, but decisions made in haste are not her strength. We will not ask things of you in her place. Nor do we feel we have a right to press you for answers, our dear Crimson. Not for many nights hence. For now, grieve in peace. Rest. No dreams, good or ill shall touch you here. That little we can at least do. We art sorry Crimson. We did not want this, our beloved Sargent, he still had so much more to live for..." A pause. "Rest well, for we will forever watch over your dreams.”

She left. True to her word, he didn't dream. No nightmares, and no happier memories.

His body finally slept, and he dreamed of nothing.

Pain. Pain and terrible, raging thirst woke Crimson. Pain in his cracking throat, and worse pain from his injuries.

He somehow struggled out of the sticky, sweaty blanket and made it to the sink.

He desperately drank from the tap, and drank, and drank until he could again think straight.

Clarity of thought was not a mercy though. Like sharpening the knife, all it did was let him remember why he'd collapsed into bed.

All alone in his nearly empty flat, the weight struck him again. A fallen tree across his back.

His face crumpled. His shaking, unbandaged wing came up to cover his face. "Oh G-Gloom, Prey..."

He turned and staggered back towards the bed, barely caring if he made it or not. A night had passed, and the light coming in through his window was from late morning. It played over the rusty red curled fronds of his blood fern, in its pot on the windowsill.

Something about that infuriated him, because it was wrong. A bucking plant should not have survived when both Gloom and Prey hadn't. He turned to sweep it from the windowsill and smash it, because it was wrong!

...It was wrong. His blood fern shouldn't be in his room. It was wrong, because when they'd set out for Haven Hay, he'd left it in Prey's care, the little lamb saying he had someone to take care of both of their respective potted plants.

But it was on his windowsill now. How?

Crimson stared uncomprehending at the red furled leaves of his fern.

'Does that mean... Prey's own potted plants have been returned too?'

Returned to Prey's room? The locked room, which no stranger seemed able to open? Yet that he could open the door of without a key somehow? The room right across from his own?

Returned to Prey's room just across the hall...

He made it to the front door in a limping rush, shoved, in the moment forgetting it was pull, finally got it open, and all but fell across the brief stretch of space to push on Prey's door.

It swung open without resistance or sound. If it had been any other time, or if he'd had a moment to gather his courage to enter his dead friend’s room-

-But this could be an emergency. Desperation trumped grief in that moment.

Crimson stepped inside. It was silent. Like his own flat, there was barely anything in here. Even the air was so incredibly still in Prey's flat, like it was frozen in time.

He fixed his eyes on the windowsill, not knowing which answer he wanted to find.

There were no plants there. It was bare.

The strength left him in a rush. He sagged. The sill was bare. No one had been in here. Prey hadn't somehow cheated death and returned.

Then he saw a page placed on the low table he'd once helped Prey cobble together, built to the lamb's height.

The white of the page was practically screaming for his attention, orientated directly towards the door and deliberately placed. There was writing on it. A message.

Somehow, he knew it was meant for him.

Crimson didn't consciously remembering ordering his legs to carry him across, or for his wing to scoop up the page, it just happened.

The letter was addressed to him. It was in Prey's hoofwritting.

'Crimson. If you're reading this, then I am sorry. I don't know what might have happened, but I must be gone. I'm sorry if I left while failing you. Please say sorry to Gloom too for me. I have left arrangements for a different letter to be delivered to him. It does not contain any of the details this letter does.'

Crimson squeezed his eyes shut and just breathed for long seconds, his hurt ribs aching fitfully with each inhale and exhale, before finally continuing.

'I don't know the circumstances you will currently be in if you're reading this, but you may be in need. I have made preparations to help out with whatever that need may be. There will be someone to meet you. I will not put down any details or answers here. I do not trust paper. Dispose of this letter, too. This person will be waiting to meet you. There is a place that you, me, and Gloom agreed to meet if a disaster ever happened. You will know where I mean. Go there. They will find you. Do not bring Gloom. They will recognise you even if you don't know them. Goodbye.'

That was it. Just, 'goodbye'.

Desperate, Crimson turned the page over. Writing a second message on the back would completely be in keeping with something Prey would do.

Not in this case, though. Panic began clouding up Crimson's mind. Where was Prey talking about? Where had they all agreed? It was panic over the fear he would somehow not be able to remember the right place, even though he knew it was ridiculous-

-The statue of Luna down in the market of Lower Canterlot. The only statue of the Night Princess in the whole city, set off in its own little stone alcove.

The three of them, when there had been three, had gathered there on their very first day off. They’d later agreed to make it their rendezvous.

How long had this letter been sitting here? Had it been here since yesterday?

His eyes darted to the sunlight outside the window. A whole day had passed, what if this secret person Prey was talking about had gone and he'd missed his only chance?

The breath left his lungs in a hiss, "Oh no."

Crimson rushed for the stairs as fast as his limp would allow.

I said it would only be a brief wait for the next chapter, and here it is. But still not the end. Not just yet.

Very, very kind and dedicated editor for this rush: 😇 Panem et Circenses