Dust behind them, Crimson and Dahlia exit the town past the spiked border of Maracas and enter the sands of the desert. The direction seems aimless, but the man trusts she knows where she's going.

The sands are kicked up in weak torrents by the coming winds. The duo walk with a squint under the morning desert sun as to protect themselves from the attacking sediment.

A hike of thirty minutes puts them over an easily missable trail that travels towards north Equestria and down further south. Not a soul can be seen for miles, it’s completely desolate out here. She stops here, right in the middle of the path. He stands next to her, hands lazily to his sides, and they wait.

And wait.

A rather strong gust of wind passes over them.

More waiting.

The sun judges them harshly. Wearing all black doesn't fair well in standing completely still.

Ever yet, they wait.

Dahlia nudges Crimson’s thigh, garnering his attention to where she is looking. He sees what she's hinting at - a group of armor-clad zebras making trail across the line towards them, their figures hazy under the rays of the sun. As they get closer, their details become illustrated. They have spears, heavy plated armor looking to be made from some kind of metal, helmets with plumes, and paint along their bodies that compliment their natural stripes.

Even with all of their equipment, they walk confidently. They look grizzled, no nonsense, and very determined. Soon enough, they come into range and stop a few meters in front of the duo.

The first to speak is the zebra who stands before the pack, taller and bigger-framed, speaking in a language neither of them understand. He then follows up with something they comprehend, "A bless’ed mo’ning to y’u both." His voice is bassy and deep, bearing a thick accent that makes his words dance with intonation.

"Morning," Dahlia replies simply, not looking too interested in small-talk.

"I pr’ey tha’at you ha’ave the Kuo'i'la."

She smiles sternly. "It's right here." She reaches into her saddlebags and takes out the ring in question. She presents it to the tribe, and collectively, their hard expressions glow in adore. They mumble between each other in their language.

The zebra at the very front, still composed and straight, begins again, "it is a’as they have sa’ed. You are a mast’ah of the craft. Yo’a payment for service rende’ed."

One of the zebras next to him, who has a chest on his back, steps forward and unhitches it, letting the heavy metal box fall to the sand with a muffled thud. This same zebra uses his hoof to open the simple latch to present the inside.

Crimson is astounded to see possibly thousands of golden coins finely assorted in stacks to the brim of the sizable chest. He comes to realize Dahlia probably didn't bring him for protection, but to mule this insane payment.

Dahlia's smile turns to a grin when she sees her loot. She then approaches the lead zebra and presents the ring to him, allowing him to take it. He does so with gentleness, holding the ring as if it were a fragile egg. He brings it up to his face and inspects it very harshly; his squint is almost enough to pierce right through.

Dahlia holds an undaunted expression, almost cocky, as he scrutinizes his possession. Crimson witnesses this silent exchange with caution, but hides it behind his hair. The other zebras express their uncertainty more visibly.

Satisfied with his examination, the zebra finally puts it on – slipping it over his left hoof up to his upper leg muscle. It fits snug. He then looks up towards Dahlia.

“Good as new, right?” the mare counts.

“Yes, ma’am. It is as you sa’ey.” His serious front suddenly churns gravely. “Howev’a. I w’uld like to see my he’e’loom n’aow. If you may.”

Everyone around reels in shock.

“What?” Dahlia questions. “You have it, it’s right there!”

“Please do not tr’ae my patience, young w’one. This is not our Kuo'i'la.”

“Yeah? Well you’re trying my patience too, buddy. What’s making you think that’s not your ring?”

“Because.” He looks down at the band. “Kuo'i'la emits pow’a when donned by the bl’udline of Lok-tok’a. This…” he flexes his upper left leg muscle, effortlessly shattering the band off. Its broken pieces fall onto the sand. “… has no pow’a.” Crimson glares at Dahlia, feeling a surge of adrenaline begin its course through his veins. He almost wants to strangle her.

Dahlia, obviously revealed to be a fraud, grits her teeth and takes one step back. The zebras note this and instantly draw their weapons. To mirror them, Crimson clenches his hands into fists and steps in front of Dahlia. The opposing force looks mildly surprised at seeing him post himself, but still eagerly await their chance.

“Th’ees will be yo’a final wa’aning, y’ung w’one,” the zebra calmly states. “Present to me my Kuo'i'la. Even in its wo’on state. I will sp’ea yo’a lives if I am all’owed to leave with what is mine.”

“Damn it,” Dahlia grunts quietly, finding herself backed into a corner. Crimson looks back to her, still holding firm in the event of a fight. He glares at her, hoping she has sense enough to do what’s right. Dahlia looks briefly to him, then back to the zebra. "... Yeah, well, sucks that I don’t have it anymore.” The zebras, including Crimson, grit their teeth in anger. “I sold it off the first night I got it. I don’t know where it’s at anymore.”

The man nearly turns around to grasp her.

“…” The front-man to the tribe glares with scolding disappointment. “’Andastand, Wisp. You have sullied yo’a name, and brought dishon’a to your ancest’as. What you have done cannot be ret’and with money. For this…” he reaches for the spear that was holstered at his back and aims it at Dahlia, “… you pay with yo’a life.”

With this calling, the zebras shout warcries and charge the duo. Crimson tightens his body, seeing them come from every angle. Dahlia takes her opportunity to get distance, darting back with her wings and flying above them.

Alone to deal with the charge, Crimson intercepts the first thrust of the spear done by a zebra. He grabs it, pulls on it, but the zebra doesn’t let go. With no time to react to the next thrust, another zebra’s spear goes to his face. He lifts his right shoulder just in time to have the pointed end jab it instead.

With this pang of pain, he exerts his body and yanks the spear he grips again. Still, the zebra does not give up his iron grip, but it’s not enough to prevent Crimson from pulling him over as well. Continuing the motion, he spins in a circle with the spear and the zebra in tow, using the stubborn zebra as a wrecking-ball to smash into the other oncoming attackers with immense force to accompany the weight. Four of them are hit, pieces of their armor shatter and chip, and they are heavily concussed. This leaves three others still standing in for the assault.

The spear breaks in half from the imbalanced pressure, and Crimson gets the pointed end. He flips it and holds it like a dagger with his right hand, skipping back to get some distance on the coming attackers. Like wind, he reaches into his inner duster pocket with his left hand to retrieve his pistol. He aims it with haste, spitting out repeated shots.

One zebra is successfully impaled twice in the forehead and cheek. He goes down within two seconds of the poison shocking him. The other zebras witness this and immediately stop their rush. They switch their tactic in a second, instead approaching with a cautious trot while huddling close.

Crimson squints and proceeds to fire into the slow-moving targets. They duck their heads and shrug their shoulders, having the darts hit their helmets and pauldrons instead. Before he knows it, his weapon clicks with an emptied mag and he has failed to tranquilize another zebra.

The weapon’s odd noise along with no more projectiles makes the zebras lift their heads with angst.

“URRAAAAAAH!”

Their charge resumes. Crimson clenches his jaw and pockets the weapon back. They come into range and attack again.

What they do not anticipate is the man charging at them and ducking instead of backing away. Because of this sudden motion, their planned jabs with their spears go over him, and he rolls into grasping distance between the left two zebras. He springs up from his roll and jabs his broken spear into the lower jaw of a zebra, lodging it deep and killing him. He grasps this large animal with one arm and his spear with his other, and uses him as a shield to stop most of the zebras on the right from piking him. Two spears bounce off their comrade’s metal armor, but an attack from the lone zebra behind successfully gets a strike into Crimson’s lower back.

Grunting in pain, he rushes forward to trample the two zebras at his front to get away from the punishment. He runs both of them down at the cost of losing is footing, tripping and rolling over the dead zebra and onto the sand. He rises onto his feet with huffs of pain and takes the dead zebra’s spear. As the two he knocked down try to rise to their fours, he is able to take his spear into the unarmored spine of one of them, paralyzing him and leaving him to his fate. The other is able to stand before he is impaled, guarding himself with his armor.

Crimson slowly backpedals with the spear in both hands, panting, with sand and blood staining his clothes. Two dead, three wounded, and three still healthy. He is internally regretting taking this tussle. They’re powerful, they’re smart, and they’re concise. He doesn’t know what tribe Dahlia decided to fuck with, but he’s definitely going to voice his displeasure for doing this.

The three that are healthy move in for the attack this time, all taking their spears to him in a three-man phalanx. With only his wits and his spear, he uses it to defend himself rather than attack. His gaze is fixed forward while he slowly backpedals. Each jab comes strong, razer-like, but is deflected by being swatted off by the end of his pike.

The dance gets intricate, complicated, the attacks become less predictable and come from weirder angles as the zebras change their stances. The other wounded zebras are getting close to catching their wind, they look ready to join the tango.

He needs to change his tactic somehow, but he can’t find the space to do so.

In fact, as he debates a strategy, the zebras do as well. Some break off the phalanx while others continue attacking. They begin to surround him in a large circle once they realize they cannot penetrate him head on. Before long, Crimson has spears darting at him from every angle.

In a frantic dance for life, he spins and twirls with his spear, trying to block them at every angle while swinging his spear to shoo them off.

The entire time, Dahlia is watching in a harsh panic from above. She watches as the man fends off a horde of pissed off tribals, but does not react to help. She tries her mind for any course of action, but none work for her. Her attention is also constantly distracted by the frontman of the tribe simply standing there, gawking up at her. He hasn’t joined the fight at all – and as a matter of fact, he hasn’t moved from his initial spot and put away his spear. He only stands there, glaring up at her in distaste.

Crimson can’t get himself out of this mess without outright fleeing. He keeps blocking them off while getting them away with thrusts. He could try tiring them out, but his spear is chipping at the base of the stone from all of the blocking. Even though he can stay doing this forever, his weapon cannot. Once he loses his reach advantage, he knows he’ll be in trouble.

Dahlia’s attention keeps bouncing between the mad-dogger and the fight; now it snaps towards the frontman when she suddenly sees his mouth begin to move, as if he were talking. It’s too quiet for her to hear. Her trembling eyes slowly widen. “What the…?”

She is dumbfounded to see small sparks of fire begin to burn on his armor – or more specifically, on the bone necklace that he dons. It is igniting, as if it were made of flame itself, and the rest of his armor begins to ember, smolder, and catch fire. Somehow, some way, this is not hurting him. This fire begins to burn around him, especially at his hooves.

“… The fuck?” she speechlessly utters.

The zebra throws his hoof forward, and a lasso of fire unleashes from the base. It reaches out like a streak of light.

It grasps Dahlia, entrapping her at the waist.

“SHIT!” she cries and tries to flap her wings faster, but to no avail, she stays in place. She almost begins to feel the searing pain of fire where the lasso binds her. “Nnhn! Aah-Aaaaah!”

Crimsons hears her cry. His focus on parrying is broken. He looks up at Dahlia in the air, caught like game. He only now notices the frontman of the zebras conjuring some sort of magic that enflames him. He sees it, too. His mouth is puckering. His cheeks are inflating. There’s no way he’s going to, like a dragon--

Shick!

Losing focus causes him to take a spear to the chest. The zebra pulls him in, growls into his face, and shoves him off. Crimson staggers back and takes another spear into his back. “NaaAAAH! LET ME GO, LET ME GO!” He hears the desperate mare call out as the refined stone penetrates his upper back. This zebra does the same, twists the spear, and shoves him off of it.

Crimson staggers again and coughs, only to wind up stabbed again by a zebra at his stomach. He squints, gritting his teeth as trickles of blood coat them. The zebra who got him next smiles in satisfaction directly into the man's face.

The frontman swishes his mouth, prepping himself. He still stares at her with bitterness. Dahlia feels tears forming in her eyes from the pain of the lasso. It feels like its melting right through her, even though all it does is suspend her in place. But what surely will burn is the empowered spell that is forming in the frontman’s mouth. Like a dragon breathing fire, he opens his maw to allow an all-consuming gust of flames to erupt towards her. A giant cone of smoldering fire claws and reaches towards Dahlia.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

The girliest, most ear-piercing scream he’s ever heard her emit. What an interesting sound for her to make, he thinks. He hopes it’s the last time he has to hear it.

It’s the last thing he actively registers as he feels his body ignite without his say-so.

"HOAH!?" The zebra who currently has his weapon cutting into the man sounds off in confusion when the back of his head is grasped. Crimson pulls them closer together, causing the spear to stab into him further. The man has no care, no regard. He takes his other hand to grasp the zebra's chin, and with both hands united, he breaks the zebra's neck with a fatal twist.

He kicks the large animal away, bouncing his lifeless body across the sand. The other zebras stop and witness this in shock. He grasps the spear lodged in his stomach and yanks it out, blood spitting from his wound. He turns like a sentry, off towards the mare who is about to be covered in flames. The man aimlessly chucks the spear with great force, the sound barrier protests the projectile. The tip of the stone lodges itself deep into a zebra's chest and he cries in pain - the throw now seeming more calculated than it initially came across.

The man crouches, his muscles flex under his bloodied and sanded clothes, and he springs into the air like a coil.

His powerful leap bashes sand around and throws him towards Dahlia just as the flames engulf her; by the time he reaches her, she is completely consumed by the flame. He punches through the fire, towards her silhouette, and grasps her. The magic of the lasso isn’t strong enough to hold against his jump force, dispersing at the end into a twinkle of magic.

Crimson falls with a slightly smoking Dahlia towards the sand. His golden eyes glare at her, seeing that she’s barely conscious, but luckily largely unharmed by not being in the flames long enough – or perhaps these magical flames were not meant to actually burn. Whatever the case, he tries to keep her from dying.

His Arch pushes itself through her, taking the express route using her bloodstream and in an attempt to get rid of excess carbon monoxide from her body.

The process is a flash - the time it takes for them to fall six stories, land on the ground, and have Crimson gently place her on the sand is enough for the process to complete. The man, moving almost autonomously, rightens his posture and glares over to the frontman who looks back just as seriously. His hair has flown back from the jump to its natural style, causing his eyes to be visible.

The other zebras, still mostly confused and intimidated, attempt to rally themselves and go for another charge.

The frontman suddenly shouts something in his language at them, causing them to stop in their tracks. He and Crimson continue to glare at one another.

Crimson turns his head down to the dazed resting mare who pants with half-lidded eyes. He reaches down, invading her saddlebags. She doesn’t appear to be stopping him, if she’s even able to. He takes out the rusted bracelet. Its appearance causes the zebras to inhale sharply.

Ring in his fist, the man begins to walk towards the frontman until they are face to face. This animal is very tall, meeting him almost eye-to-eye, just a shy shorter. They exchange another fierce look, Crimson’s glowing eyes punching the zebra’s soul, and the zebra’s cold gaze icing him right back.

Crimson offers the ring back. The zebra stares at him for a moment longer before accepting it with gentleness, donning it where the fake was, and seeing it glow amongst its rust to provide a faded energy.

The fire that surrounds the zebra fades, the bone necklace he wears extinguishes. At this, Crimson’s eyes return to their hazel selves.

“You ha’ave my ete’nal gratitude,” the frontman states with his deep, gritty tone. The man does not reply, he only nods once. “You a’ah wise, unlike yo’a other ha’af. Please… if you will. Teach her. Do not scold her. She has much to learn. Especially from one such as yo'aself.”

His words strike a profound reach. His burning frustration and anger towards Dahlia, while not completely gone, has an ice-bucket tossed onto it. The very zebra she tried stealing from has more sympathy than he aimed to provide. Crimson looks back towards the other zebras that are approaching him from behind. They carry their dead comrades, some are still limping and wounded. Visible guilt takes his face, which the frontman catches quickly.

“Petty not, proud warri’a,” he calls, garnering Crimson’s attention. “You have slain my kin in fai’r battle. They died an honar’ble death. They will return to the sands as kings.” He looks over to the other zebras, seeing grim but agreeable expressions on their faces. He faces the man again. “You have earned an ally with yo’a actions. We may not know yo’a name, but we will hon’a you in song and spirit.”

Crimson’s listless eyes end up on the chest that contains the massive payment. Again, the acute frontman follows his gaze.

“The money is yo’as to keep, proud warrior.” This brings a pang of shock to Crimson, making him look back at him incredulously. “We have no need of idle riches. I am content to have my he’e’loom in my possession again. Truly, I was a fool to pa’at with it to begin with. Pe’haps in the future I shall ende’va to restore it again. With more supervision.”

Crimson nods once again in acknowledgement. With this, the frontman turns without further words. He begins to march, his tribe follows behind him. They journey off, leaving the duo alone in the expanse of the desert again.

Crimson feels his legs give from under him once his Arch stops actively supporting him. He falls onto his knees, idly gawking out to the distance, watching the tribe become farther and farther away. He can't begin to fathom what he just went through. He killed their people because his partner tried to steal from them... yet they honored him and respected him regardless.

Dahlia allowed her greed to toil the graces of such benignant people. The very thought of this infuriates him to no end... yet, he scolds himself for being surprised. Knowing what she does for a living, even accounting what she pulled off yesterday... he should have seen this coming.

He stays on his knees, arms limp to his sides, for an uncounted time.

It isn’t until he hears coughing and a groan come from the mare behind him that he snaps out of his stagnation. He looks back towards her, seeing her trying to get to her hooves.

He forces his trembling body to rise. He approaches the chest and bends down to lift it with both arms, just as heavy as he expected it to be. He foists it onto his left shoulder before proceeding to Dahlia. He slogs his hurting frame through the sand. It looks like she’s still recovering from the fumes and the cleansing. He reaches down and picks her up, tucking her against his chest with his right arm.

He takes one last look at the battlefield. Blood litters the sand all around.

He begins limping back towards the town.

‎

‎

Ignoring all the spying eyes from the wanderers around, Crimson succeeds at getting them into the hotel and fetching an elevator to their floor with the help of the amicable barkeep. Once they arrive, he wastes no time getting them into their designated quarters – pilfering the key to the door from Dahlia’s bag. He enters, kicks the door closed behind them, moves to set her down on the bed, and sets the chest down next to it.

He steps back, eyeing her silently. During the walk back, she passed out. He kept trying to funnel his Arch into her, making sure she was okay and not brain dead or charred, but he kept coming back with nothing. She looks fine. The lasso didn’t even leave a burn mark, which was interesting to him considering it was made purely of fire. He chalks it up to his previous assumption: magic being magic.

Leaving her to her rest, he huffs out an agitated breath. He looks around the room for something to do. Nothing really comes to mind except taking some of the paper tissues from the kitchen to clean the blood off his clothes.

He proceeds to do so. Luckily his clothes are all black and doesn’t present the blood very well, so it’s mostly getting the sand off.

He doesn’t stop wiping himself off until he’s relatively clean again.

‎

‎

Cool, lightly-carbonated liquid races down Crimson's throat once more. His lips pop off the end of the glass bottle, emptied of its contents. He sets down the beer bottle to his right side, next to six other emptied vessels. His cheeks puff up, forcing the oncoming burp to come out passively through his nose.

The mild buzz sits comfortably. He rests on the lawn-chair of the balcony. Dahlia is still lights-out on the bed inside. He watches, with jaded eyes, the sky slowly paint from a fiery orange-red to a passive, deep purple-blue. It's gorgeous, he thinks. Here he is, once more, watching what is Equestria's expansive beauty.

... And again, the land reminds him how horrifying it is. Each time he steps out of his haven, where ever that may be, he finds himself trying to escape with his life. More often than not, with someone else's life too.

"Fuckin’ Dahlia. Why did she go and pull a trick like that? Didn’t peg her the suicidal type, but I’m dead fuckin’ wrong."

He can't understand it. She nearly got herself killed, and for what? Money? Money that she supposedly already has? He feels he has not been around her for long enough to really determine if she has the cunning and survival skills everyone seems to always talk about. For the time he's know her, it's pure trouble, each fucking time.

He reaches to his left side, picking up another bottle from the remaining five. He presses his thumb to the hard-cap and pops it off effortlessly, taking an immodest swing. With three chugs, he downs almost half of the bottle. He pulls it away and rests the bottom of the bottle on his chest, glazing his slowly blinking eyes to the now-darkened sky. Very little light is left from the sun. The eve gives way.

Another day. Another night. It’s all feeling the same. He can’t tell the difference between this day and the last. Events are present in his mind, but the time that’s passed between them meshes indecipherably.

He’s hard-pressed to think he’s made any actual progress. Everything he’s done until now rounds him to a new road that breaks off to a completely new end. What the end entails is always ambiguous. The sparse time he has to regress into his muse only makes him more jaded. Over two months in this land and he still doesn’t know what he’s actually doing here.

“And it’s all Fate’s fault – or the condescending figure who called herself that. Ripe to assume she’s the reason I’m here, yet she showed herself once… probably on purpose. Found it right to rise from the shade just to say ‘hi.’ Some formality. She’s probably watchin’ me, waitin’ to see all the ways her world can fuck with me. Where are you now, Fate? You wanna show yerself again? You can prolly hear what I’m thinkin’ or some shit. Playing the mystic.” Silence responds to his mental accusations. “… I fuckin’ hate you. Why’d you take my sister away from me? Huh? The fuck did I do to deserve this? Some caper of yers? I ain’t laughin’. The folk I killed certainly ain’t.”

He hopes now with this new path he is about to walk some sort of purpose will formulate in front of him. He takes another drink of his beer, this time more reserved than his previous drinks. His heart is sinking deeper the further up the alcohol takes him. It all feels so god damn pointless.

“Humiliated. Treated like an animal. Fer yer entertainment? You pull me into this fucked up place for a front-row seat to a play of yer own?”

He reaches his free hand to the collar that still binds his neck and pulls on it – hard. Very hard. He feels the back of his neck pushing in and pop once. He grits his teeth fiercely, his chest puffs out.

“Hrh,” he gives up, the collar does nothing, not even a small tear. He’ll sooner break his body trying to get it off with his strength.

“… Why? Why did it work? This fuckin’ thing selectively choose to hate me?”

He brings back his encounter with the zebras, how his Arch activated without the collar putting him down like the dog he is. He felt it, it was alive. Strong. His body begins to feel a certain way when it channels, which is usually pain, but accompanied also by a whimsical sensation that cannot be described with words. Light? Featherlike? Giddy? He can’t find the right word.

There was no pain, only bliss. The collar chose not to hurt him, but why?

Crimson drinks the rest of his beer with a few rushing chugs, getting the bottle set down safely at his right side with the rest of the empty family. He sits up, staring out to the distant land. He takes a deep inhale and lets it out. He repeats himself two more times, until he inhales and holds it inside. His muscles flex fiercely, his eyes begin to glow with golden light.

“Rrh-rrrhh!” The metal pieces of the collar pulse with the color of his Arch and it drains him again. It instantly exhausts him, he falls back down to lay on the chair again. “… Gah… damn it,” he huffs between two breaths, getting his slightly inebriated self to calm down. He reaches for another bottle of beer, getting the cap popped off with the flick of his thumb.

As soon as he brings the bottle up to his lips, a voice calls to him, “You okay?”

He turns his dreary gaze towards the mare who stands mane-disheveled at the sliding door. It was left open to let some of the heat escape, but even then he didn’t hear her approach. She’s silent, he’ll give her that.

“Yeah,” the man simply replies, turning to face Equestria again. “… You?”

“Dizzy. Chest hurts. … You sure you’re not dying? Those zebras stabbed you… more than once.”

Crimson shakes his head and doesn’t respond further.

She looks at the small army of emptied bottles forming next to his chair. “… You drinking?” He reaches to his left side and picks out an unopened bottle, offering it to her. She looks at it skeptically. “I’m good.” He places the bottle back down in its original spot. She scans him once more with dubiety before taking a seat on the other lawn chair sat adjacently to his.

She takes a moment to tuck her tail and sit on her fours comfortably, looking out to the land. Once Crimson feels that she’s situated, his first query is, “What the fuck was that?”

“Excuse me?” she immediately enters the defense.

“I didn’t stutter.”

“The fuck was what? You saw it! They attacked us!”

He sits up, eyes dilated, “’Cuz you tried fuckin’ stealin’ from them!”

“And? I’ve done shit like this hundreds of times, it just so happens this one fell through!”

“How could you not know their piece was magic? That’s the first thing I’d expect you to find out!”

“Well they don’t exactly have any books or records in Ponish, moron! How was I supposed to find that out?”

“Then why try STEALIN’ from them!?”

“MONEY, is why! This only fell through because you came! I should have just trusted myself and gone alone!”

Crimson smacks his chest with his palm, “You would’a fuckin’ died if I wasn’t there! Does that not clip into yer stupid fuckin’ head!? That zebra had magic, girl! Magic! Nearly brunt yer ass!”

“I could have flown away, but noOo! I had to stay for your dumbass! You’re nothing but a fucking weight on my shoulders! You’re bad luck incarnate! Each time you’ve been around me, something got fucked up! I always win! But NOT WHEN YOU’RE AROUND!”

Crimson’s jaw clenches harshly, his pin-for-eyes glare violence. There’s so many damn things he wants to say.

“Do not scold her. She has much to learn. Especially from one as yourself.”

“…” Crimson’s inner flame begins to extinguish slowly – painfully slowly. All the rage he feels is becoming awfully overwhelming, but he fights it the best he can. “… Fuck,” he whispers to himself, falling back down to the chair. He plants his free hand onto his forehead, taking his beer back to his mouth to let the cool alcohol quench his fire.

Dahlia, panting gently from getting so heated, gawks at him as he returns to a rest. Her anger doesn’t want to let up, but she knows he’s done arguing, which is pretty much all they’ve done these last two days. There’s so much more she wants to say, from more than one packet of thought, but she swallows it. Seeing him give up wells her with… something. Something she can’t figure out.

The quiet between them is hurting her, but she can’t think of anything to really say. At least, nothing that would help the current situation.

… Well, one thing does come to mind. “… Hey,” she calls to him. He doesn’t bother looking over. “Think, uh… think you can pass me one of those?”

He sits idle for a second or two, but then reaches down to pick up a bottle for her. He flicks the cap off and offers it. She takes it, bringing it in with both hooves. She feels the cool bottle press against her coat, it does a small work to ease her nerves. She takes the top to her lips, pressing it firmly. Her lips don’t part, the liquid coats them. It takes a nervous moment, but her mouth finally opens. The bitter contents flow in, she tries to savor it as little as possible, and she forces down two swings. She pulls the bottle away and shivers, hating every second of the terrible taste invading her tongue. Though it goes down terribly, it sits peculiarly in her tummy and warms up her body quickly.

She reclines back into the chair, still holding the bottle with both hooves. She looks out to Equestria, letting her thoughts race on with everything that comes to mind.

The two of them repose in silence, sipping at their drinks without haste. The nighttime ambience plays well with their beverages; the stress of their argument, and the day in general, slowly unbinds its locks from their tense bodies. While not fully done away, at least they are able to relax.

A good few minutes pass. Nearing the end of her drink, Dahlia feels a confliction circulating. She isn’t quite sure what energy tides around Crimson, it isn’t quite what she’s used to. She can’t find it inside herself to stay angry or keep ignoring him. Maybe it’s for a few reasons, but she couldn’t pin them. She glances to him, down at the bottles he’s relinquished of life.

“… Really taking advantage of the complimentary re-stocking, huh?” she comments.

“Might as well,” he replies simply, looking at deep blue label of his bottle. A quiet breeze comes between their brief silence.

“You can sure drink a lot,” she comments.

“Can drink more.”

“Geeze. With just this one I’m feeling it.”

“Not a drinker?”

“I haven’t had a drink in almost eight years.”

He looks over to her with raised brows, “Damn. That long?” She responds with two nods. “… Forgive me fer temptin’ you.”

“Oh stop. It was my decision.”

“How is it after all that time?”

“It’s gross. I don’t know how you tolerate it.”

“An acquired taste, sure. You handled it pretty well,” he points to the nearly empty bottle in her possession.

She looks to it as well. With just a moment of hesitation, she takes it up to finish it off, pulling it away with another shiver. Her muzzle scrunches, “Mh, yuck.”

“Done and done. Good work.”

She places the bottle down at the side of her chair. “It’s gonna be a while before I ever do that again.”

“Reasonable.”

His words bounce between them for a little while. They let the ambiance soak in, gazing out to the lands before them.

Dahlia looks towards the Everfree. She focuses on a particular spot – the one where the cabin is roughly located. Memories surface with the events that transpired there. What she was doing before she arrived, the time of her arrival, her plans, and how they were ruined by the ape that somehow found his way back to her.

Tracks come right after the other, her train of thought continues to accelerate until it comes to a station bearing a question. “… So what’s your first move?”

“Mean with the Horseshoes?”

“Yeah.”

He thinks about it briefly, his eyes raise to stare at his eyebrows. “… Since you mentioned the cities are accepting my kind now, reckon I’ll head to Baltimare right-off and claim what’s mine. With everythin' Gloriosa told us, gettin' a stable footin' before we speak to our mutual friend strokes me the right way.”

“You’ll be needing my help if you’re headed to a major city.” To this, he looks very unenthused. “… What’s with that look?” He glances over to her listlessly. “Don’t give me that. The badges won’t be letting you walk around by yourself, you’ll still need a pony.”

“That the case?”

“Yeah. It is. But if you wanna go do your own thing and get nabbed again, you do you, pal.”

“Never said you’re not comin’. Remember, we're doin' this without me talkin'. Won't get nowhere if I don't have a voice. But we’re doin’ things my way.”

“Your way? What’s your way?” she questions him as if he was speaking incoherently.

“You’ll find out. If you don’t like it, maybe it’s best that we don’t work together. We can regroup once I’m done so we can finally find a way to get me outta this god damn pony world.”

“At that point, you might as well find it yourself. You’re going in pretty deep with the Horseshoes. You do realize what you’re trying to do, right?” He gives her another scrupulous look. “Like, do you actually understand what you’re getting into?”

“Don’t worry about that. All I need to know is if you’re with me or without me. I'll scrap the no-talkin' strategy if it comes to it.”

“When did you get so brave about going it alone?”

“Since now. Since you almost got the both’a us killed this mornin’. What WERE you thinkin’ not wantin’ to give ‘em their charm back? Genuinely?”

“I already said why! Get over it!”

“Gettin' over it is somethin' you should learn. Suicidal fer money. If you wanna make it to El Dorado, you can go it alone. Won't be here if you're gonna try bendin' shit sideways tryin'a make an extra buck. Especially if yer gettin' me twisted in it."

Dahlia glares at him, taking no appreciation for his forward attitude. “I’m not suicidal for money. Everything I do is planned ahead of time and coordinated. Like I said, you’re just bad luck.”

“And you're full of shit.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Glad we agree.”

She huffs, still feeling a little dizzy from her drink. She takes a moment to regain herself, letting curiosity rather than aggression take her. “… What’s waiting for you at Baltimare?”

“Couple’a important things. First is my treasury. Got an account registered under Gloriosa’s name, but she applied me as a holder and gave me the info I need to access it. One of her’s manages the building.”

“Cool, your own treasury. How much money you got in it?”

“Don't pertain to you.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes and huffs loudly in frustration. “You don't have to be a prick about it.” Crimson shakes his head with lined lips at her childish display. “Whatever. Once you set up that account, you gonna head to the hole in the wall Gloriosa talked about?”

“Yeah, next thing after. Can't waste too much daylight, remember, the swap happens in two days.”

“You gonna try slinking the info outta the Horseshoes once we meet them?”

“Not yet. Gotta get the favors done first. Make up fer the shit that happened back at Majesty’s. Should be able to snake in after that's done.”

“…” Dahlia looks down at the floor of the balcony with reservation. “… I dunno, Crim. I still don’t like the idea of this.”

“Don’t feel forced to come with.”

“I’m not!” She barks softly. “I just…” she pauses, thinking about her next words, “… this is dangerous shit.”

“Preachin’ to the choir, Deedee.”

Dissatisfied with his resolve, she slumps back into the chair. She quickly becomes restless, contemplative, and groans in agitation. “I’m headed back inside,” she says as she rises from the chair and begins her leave.

“Hey…” She stops at the entrance of the sliding door and looks back to him. “… I’m sorry about Moobs.”

Dahlia furrows her brows and looks away. “Don’t worry about it.” She jumps through her mind to try and say something that might divert the attention away from the topic. “… What time are we leaving?”

“Early morn’. I’ll wake you. You said we can return here whenever, right? This hotel?”

“As long as we’re not followed or chased, yeah. They’ll let me back in. We just need to fetch the key from the barkeep when we do.”

“… Right. Get some rest.”

“…” She takes a brief moment to gaze across his figure. He looks farther worse for wear than she does, yet he speaks to her like she had pikes stab into her body. It drives in an emotion that she can’t explain…

… she tries not to think about it too hard. She heads inside and treks towards the bed, laying herself on top of the blankets.

‎ ‎

‎ ‎

Before the rise of the sun, Crimson and Dahlia are already prepped and leaving the small town of Maracas. They greet the desert expanse once more, Dahlia carrying her saddlebags full of drinks and Crimson with a make-shift backpack of cloths and ropes that carry the chest of bits behind him.

They venture out, hoping to hit the Slums before noon. Their walk is uneventful, maybe a bit hotter than their last, but full of nothing. They exchange a few words occasionally, but largely keep to their thoughts.

‎ ‎

‎ ‎

The roughly four-hour trail puts them back at the edge of the Slums. The smog is felt punched through, that familiar toxic air. With this sensation, the terrible memories of only two days ago ascend.

The duo waste no time recounting and proceed to Gloriosa’s doorfront. Zeek, posted at the front as always, gives a reverent nod to the man. Crimson’s request for transport is fulfilled swiftly. A carriage is brought from around back and situated next to him, where he and his partner board it together. He sits in the middle, even to Dahlia’s mild detest.

Bound to the city of Baltimare, the duo take to the skies and travel out.

The ride is peaceful, much more pleasant than walking through the desert. Crimson reclines back, both arms across the top of the backrest. Dahlia keeps to her corner, resting her head against the carriage door’s shoulder. This treacherous world is easy to appreciate from above.

He can still recall the first time he boarded a carriage with Moonlight. How high they went, how fast they were going. How beautiful the world looked from up above. Even now, it’s still incredible.

He finds hate festering amongst the appreciation. This land is just like his home – ruthless and unforgiving. Not for the feint of heart, save for the comfort of the civilized major cities. Everyone living in posh comfort, not having to worry about expansion or trudging through the unknown. No worries of folk always trying to kill each other.

He keeps his thoughts to himself. In many ways, he feels he has to.

‎

‎

The duo finally make port on the airway of Baltimare; a new, shining, unfamiliar city to Crimson – yet one he’s encountered before. Their carriage drivers sprint across the paved stone stretch until they come to a halt, allowing the carriage to be disembarked.

Dahlia is quick to hop off without using the door, coming to a soft landing with her wings. Crimson, heavier and less graceful, hops off with the chest of bits and lands with his boots loudly clanking the stone. He turns his head, giving the carriages drivers a sly nod of appreciation. They do the same before they kick into another sprint to take off again. The man admires their stamina.

Focusing on the grandeur in front of him, he looks up at the city. It’s just as modern as Las Pegasus, if maybe slightly less so. There’s obvious technologies, such as flashing signs and lights, displays, and other electrically-powered businesses and buildings. Many tall sky-scrapers make this place much less air-friendly than the other cities he’s been to, so landing in a specially designated space for it makes some sense to him.

Before they begin their walk, Dahlia reaches into her saddlebags and takes out a little note – the address to the treasury and for the ‘hole in the wall.’ Once she mentally maps out where to go, she puts the note back in her bag and begins to lead. Crimson follows just behind. It isn’t long until they pass the chain-link fence that surrounds the airway and enter the city.

To his astonishment, he sees a plethora of other humans wandering about. Kinds of all colors, hair styled in unique ways, all accompanied by a pony or more. He didn’t understand the extent of humanity’s role in Equestria, much less their place in society, but he feels his eyes opened. They truly are just pets, and possibly the most popular type. He does see a pony or two with a dog, especially around the park areas scattered about the city, but the overwhelming majority is human.

He can think of a few reasons why so many humans are currently out, but he’s just grateful he’s able to blend in better now. He’s most definitely taller than pretty much every other human, but there’s so many around, especially those dressed in very expensive clothing and hair styles, the attention is easily diverted. He feels as if everyone was throwing a ‘show your human off’ party, this change is legislation was no small act.

Dahlia guides them down many perfectly paved sidewalks, across many buildings that display products, especially clothing. She eyes the signs that label the streets and looks at the building numbers, making sure she’s headed to the right place.

Crimson lets his eyes wander as they please, feeling a bit more secure in his role. On what he can catch from random conversations amongst ponykind, money is the main player in this city.

“There,” Dahlia murmurs to him, nodding her head to a wide building with four thick pillars at the front. They arrive at the entrance, Crimson opens the glass doors for her entry. Once inside, they are met with the smell of floor wax and paper. A standard, modern clear-cut treasury with dark brown marble floors and white walls. It’s completely empty, suspiciously so, with the only bodies around being the workers.

The receptionist desk is at the front, and many booths protected by glass are behind her. The actual receptionist before them looks very happy to see them.

“Good afternoon!” she calls to Dahlia. “Welcome to Glitter Century Treasury. How may I help you?”

The two walk closer to her as to allow normal speaking volume. “Yeah, uh…” Dahlia begins, “I’d like to make a, uh… deposit?” she states unsurely.

“Splendid! Please follow the blue ropes to the right, the clerk can assist you further!”

Dahlia follows her directions and walks between the silver poles hung with thick blue velvet rope. Crimson moves behind her, noting the receptionist giving him a glance. He turns his head slightly, a gesture to acknowledge her, and she beams even brighter.

Arriving at the clerk, it’s an older stallion, with glasses that hang a small metal chain on the left lens. “Making a deposit today?” he asks with a gravel-ish, yet friendly tone.

“Yeah,” Dahlia steps aside to present Crimson, and the man takes the chest off his back and presents it to him.

The clerk hardly acknowledges the actual amount and proceeds, “Excellent. May I have the name on the account and the account number?”

Crimson sets the chest down on the ground and steps closer to the clerk. He reaches into his duster pocket and takes out a small paper with something he can’t understand written on it. The clerk lifts his glasses up and reads the note presented to him.

With a satisfied smile, the clerk puts his glasses back down. “We’ll get this cashed in for you on the double. And just from me to you,” he leans a bit closer to the glass, “that strong-box is pretty valuable. If you’d want to leave that here, you’ll see an ‘extra amount’ added to today’s deposit.”

Mildly surprised, Crimson purses his lips. He gives Dahlia a quick look, who obviously is rooting for the money. She nods repeatedly. He looks back at the clerk, delivering only one nod.

“Wise! Very wise decision, sir!” He moves to press a discreet orange button on the left side of his desk. “Summoning carriers as we speak. We’ll have a statement ready for you in a few minutes.”

Crimson shakes his head and waves his hand once.

“Ah, no need?”

He nods once.

“Very well. Would there be anything else today?”

He shakes his head again.

“It’s been my pleasure,” the stallion smiles firmly. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

Crimson and Dahlia turn in sync, trailing to the glass doors. Dahlia reaches into her saddlebags once again to take the note, memorizing the second address. She pockets it; Crimson moves to open the door for them.

Another traversal through the bustling city has them turning corners and passing towns-folk. Now without the huge burden behind him, Crimson struts with straightened posture. It adds a few inches to his height, but no one finds it all that interesting.

Dahlia turns them onto a new street. She stops briefly, making Crimson do the same, and she double-takes. With the pursing of her lip, she keeps walking. They pass a few shops in this district and stop in front of a clothing store, one with white pony mannequins behind glass at the front.

Crimson opens the door, letting her in first before following inside. Their olfactory is overtaken by more appropriate scents – perfume, cloth, and more floor wax. The shop itself is a square with a fairly high ceiling. Clothing racks, trollies, carts, and other movable presentations house all types of clothing. Much of it looks incredibly, unnecessarily expensive, and there is a number of customers about the shop looking to spend that kind of money.

“Welcome!” a cutesy voice calls from behind the counter at the far end of the shop. Crimson is starting to note a trend with Gloriosa’s subordinates.

The duo move to the counter to address the clerk. “Uh… hey,” Dahlia begins, severely lacking tact.

The clerk beams while tucking her cheek to her shoulder. “Great to see you again!~ Your articles are waiting for you in the dressing room!” She points to her left, signaling to a cloth drape that blocks off said dressing room.

The two acknowledge her coded words and proceed to their designation. Dahlia gently swats the cloth out of the way, Crimson holds it open so they both can pass. Inside, it appears another store associate is waiting for them at the farthest dressing room on the right. They approach her, and with a cheeky smile, she waves them to enter. Dahlia looks at Crimson with mild discomfort, but he doesn’t overtly react.

They push the cloth out of the way to enter the compact dressing room, having to stand very close to each other. Dahlia lines her lips and looks away from his general direction.

Without as much as a warning, a rectangular section of the farthest wall unhitches from its flushed position and descends quietly into the ground, a discrete door appears on the other side. Dahlia moves to take the handle and open it, revealing a hall that travels deeper into the building. Exchanging a glance, Crimson and Dahlia proceed.

Once they make it through, the wall silently raises up again, leaving them in the dim lighting of a few yellow bulbs tacked across the length of the hall. Crimson closes the door behind them. They traverse this hall, another warm light comes in through the bottom of a door at the far end which ends their trail. They arrive at their stop, and with a bit of hesitance, Dahlia takes the handle and opens this door.

The two are greeted with a concealed office, one with a unicorn mare dressed in business attire using her purple magic to write into parchment with a quill. She stops at her door opening, her teal eyes raise from behind rectangular glasses to stare at them uninterestedly.

Crimson witnesses glass behind her desk, glass which looks into another shop. It looks almost exactly like the shop they were just in, but the colors of the shop are inverted and placement of the clothing racks are in different locations. Customers are entering from what looks like the next street over. The discreet architecture baffles him. He assumes the glass itself is enchanted or one-way, as even though they can look into the shop, none of the customers there seem to be paying them any heed.

“Sky, I assume?” the mare calls, her voice low and a bit cold.

The man nods. “It’s a pleasure, miss Vera.”

“Hm,” her serious front presents a small smile at her name being spoken by him. “A pleasure indeed.” Her icy gaze moves to the silent pegasus. “I was expecting Axel to accompany you. Who might this be?”

Crimson looks down to her, allowing her the room to introduce herself. “Wisp,” Dahlia states simply.

“Oh? Ohoho~” Vera levitates her quill back into its pot, giving the duo her full attention. “The renown treasure hunter?”

“That’s me.”

“This is quite the treat. So no Axel. Is she with you, Sky?”

“She is,” the man states.

“Hm,” she closes her eyes once again, her enthused smile refuses to let up. “Well, I won’t pry into your… personal matters, but… this is perfect nonetheless~ Did Mary tell you anything about the quandary we have at hoof?”

“Not a word.”

“Always leaving it up to me,” she states sarcastically and holds her simper. “There’s much to go through, but I’ll try to keep it short and sweet.”

“All ears.”

Vera sits back in her chair, smile fading, letting her cold eyes drift listlessly away from them. “Rumors have been circulating rampantly about certain items of interest, some of which we’ve found already. Our High Chair members have spent millions in researching and trying to locate these items of interest. There are several components missing that make this investment seem fruitless, but some of our Brains think they’ve finally cracked this elusive egg. If you’re anypony that’s anypony, you already know what I’m talking about.”

“Let’s assume I’m nobody,” Crimson plants, though he already has an idea what she’s speaking of.

Vera leans forward, resting her chin on her hooves. With a sly grin, she speaks, “A set of lost artifacts - The Aramani Era relics.”

“The set of five?” Dahlia interjects. “Right?”

“Hm, somepony’s been doing her homework,” Vera hums. “The very ones.”

“… I had my hoof on one. I sold it to a trader outside Canterlot a few months ago.”

“Was it a sphere?”

“Yeah!” she replies excitedly. “Yeah it was!”

“Interesting. I think I know which merchant sold it to the Horseshoes. May have been yours. This might be bad news, but you were likely undercut. Severely.”

Dahlia bites her lip, not wanting to acknowledge her truth. “How much did the Horseshoes buy it off of him for?”

Vera chuckles lightly, looking away and lifting her eyes to the ceiling. “I couldn’t tell you the amount… but it was in the six digits~”

Dahlia’s ghost nearly exits from her mouth.

“Worry not, Wisp. You’ll have a good chance to net an even higher pay for your services. There are still more relics that we need in our possession. Each will be worth your effort.”

Crimson’s front is stern in contemplation. “… The belt and the necklace. Reckon Canterlot still has ‘em.”

Vera’s brows crinkle her forehead. “Indeed they do. How did you know that?”

Crimson’s eyes dilate briefly, quickly forcing himself to keep impassive amidst his accidental blunder. “She told me,” he tilts his head to Dahlia, who very astutely nods.

She continues after him, “I have my sources. We were hunting them down too, but let the idea go after a while. I guess we have a reason again.”

“A very good one, too,” Vera acknowledges. “It’s been some time since Canterlot has taken possession of the belt and necklace. You two are already familiar with what we’re after. We’re not starting from scratch, then. That’s excellent. It isn’t any of MY business, but… both of you have been a team for a while now, it seems.”

“You can say that,” Crimson responds.

“You’ve only come to know Axel recently, I suppose. The name Sky has not come up once except recently.”

“Thank him fer that. I’d prefer stayin’ below the eye, but workin’ with him made it tough.”

“He does love to talk, that Axel~” she lulls. “He has a tendency to make interesting business partners, such as yourself. A talking human.” She runs her orbs up and down his frame twice, not only emphasizing him but taking his figure in.

“Yeah. On that - has Gloriosa told you?”

“About the… ‘hush-hush’?” The man nods in response. Her pique rises ever further. “She has, quite a while ago actually. It was actually Axel’s request. He's the one who told Gloriosa to keep you 'low-brow.' Don’t worry your dear little head, not one mouth outside Mary’s reach knows about you or your ability to speak. In fact, a honcho from the northern plains asked about you not two days ago. Everypony still thinks you’re a rock-headed, over-glorified bodyguard for Axel.”

“Good.”

“Good indeed.” She plants her hooves on her desk and sits up. “Well, I won’t keep you two for any longer.” She reaches to her right, opening a drawer on her desk to retrieve a manila folder. She places it carefully at the front edge of her desk, allowing them to take it. “The five W’s are in those files. Study it and learn it like the back of your hoof.” Dahlia quickly moves to take it, as if it were to be stolen from her if she were too slow.

Dahlia opens the folder and quickly skims the insides. “… That’s it?”

“That’s it~” she repeats with a tune.

Dahlia gives Crimson a curious glance. He shrugs lightly, but speaks up to Vera to ask, “What about my ‘tools?’ Don’t suppose armaments can be found behind the desks of yer employees.”

“I’d laugh, but,” Vera grins, “you’re exactly right. Though, your provisions will be granted by somepony else. My job is to get you in.”

Crimson gives a single nod of understanding. “Don’t suppose Gloriosa provided lodging in the city fer us?”

“I don’t believe so. Not that you can’t afford it~”

Dahlia gives him a hungry, scrupulous look, and he tries to wave her off. “Right, well,” he begins to turn, giving Vera a last sidelong glace, “we’ll be takin’ our leave.”

“Then I bid you two farewell. It was a pleasure, and I pray that you succeed. Though after what I heard happened at Majesty's, I'm sure you will~”

The man gives his departure with one nod. Dahlia offers no parting of her own. Together, they exit through the obscure door.

Once they’re alone in the dimness of the lengthy hidden cement hallway, Dahlia speaks up, “So we need a place to stay. Would have been nice to know before coming here.”

“Won’t be a problem. Like she said, the price tag ain’t an issue. You’ve been here before, right? Recommend any place in particular?"

“Uh, yeah, I can. If you wanna spend half of your savings for one night. We can just kick it outside tonight.”

“How do you suppose that?”

“Because we’re just waiting on the swap, remember? Why book for a room when we'll hardly use it?”

“ And yer best suggestion is to sleep on the streets?”

“What? Does that scare you?”

He shakes his head, “I just told you to cut the shit about pinchin' money, and here you are.”

“I'm not pinching! It’s called being a smart spender. It’s the reason why I was able to bail myself out of the Canterlot Dungeon. Imagine if I had your spending habits? I’d be screwed.”

“I get bein’ smart with yer money, but you take it to an extreme.”

“Think of it however you want. I’m not spending a single bit on lodging.” As he's about to further illustrate his displeasure, something appears to strike Dahlia. The mare looks up to him quizzically. “… And I might have an idea.”

“I'll regret sayin' this, but... sure. What is it.”

“So. I was here a few weeks ago for a trade. I was wandering around for a good place to crash, then I noticed a really cool looking house at the edge of town that, I THINK, was empty.”

Crimson’s eyes dilate. He was looking to shoot down literally anything she could have suggested and just resorted to booking a room, but...

“I didn’t wanna check because I didn’t wanna risk somepony actually being in there, catching me, and reporting me to the badges. I had a diamond effigy on me at the time, so I didn’t wanna get that confiscated. But with you here, we can at least take a sneak peek. If there’s trouble, safe to say you’ve got our backs.”

Her words drift into the air and fall onto the ground. She becomes perplexed at his sudden unresponsiveness.

“… Sooo… yes? No?” She glances up to him, seeing that he’s staring straight forward without reaction. “… Crim, you alright? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

He slowly turns his head to her, his one visible hazel eye staring very deeply into hers. “... Blue house? Off a dirt road?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. You already know about it?”

“… It belongs to the Head Researcher.”

“Wooah. Of Canterlot? Really? That little chunk of land? Hah, I’d think something bigger and fancier for the top-dog in the Robes. Those nerds get paid more than I can even imagine!”

“We’re not breakin’ into her house.”

Dahlia’s jubilation comes crashing down. “Aww, come on! It’s pretty much abandoned! I didn’t see a soul go in or out last time I was here! Plus, she’s back at Canterlot if the rumors are true. She probably left that house for dead.”

“No means no, Dahlia.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I still go and crash at her place? What’ll you do then, huh? Beat me up?”

He stops, the door that leads to the shop only a few more feet away. Dahlia continues until she stops to it, reaching to place her hoof on the handle. She feels his pressing eyes glaring at her, causing her to pause. She frowns, slowly turning back to look at him. His silent gawk continues…

Dahlia’s ears fall to her head and she lets go of the door handle, her eyes shift away. “… Alright, fine. We won’t break into her house.” Crimson slowly nods once with mild satisfaction. “I don’t get why you don’t wanna. What, she your secret lover or something?”

“Do me a kindness and get off my back.”

“Sheesh, no need to get defensive.” Crimson squints at her, resisting the urge to bark at her hypocritical remark. She doesn’t notice it, looking back at the door. “Can we at least check?”

At this, Crimson feels a sudden inner demon roil. He wants to give a flat and even ‘no’, but… there's something in him... “… If it'll get you to shut yer trap. But we ain’t gonna get near.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes and opens the door. A mare from the store is there to instantly greet them, it appears that the false wall has already come down before they’ve arrived.

“Find everything okay?” the associate asks.

“Yeah,” Dahlia responds, blowing past her sourly. Crimson follows behind her with just as much severity. The associate looks at them with consternation, placing a hoof at her cheek, but says nothing further.

The two exit the shop without paying mind to anyone else around. Their leave is signaled by the twinkling bell of the glass door.

Back on the streets of Baltimare, Dahlia fixes their course to the outskirts. Crimson can feel the tension building inside his chest. He doesn’t know what he expects to see once he arrives. Perhaps some part deep down inside of him hopes she’s there, for whatever reason. Finally see her again.

… A stupid thing to hope. It’s best she’s not there.

He’ll find out soon enough.

Next Chapter: Where the Heart Is Estimated time remaining: 10 Hours, 20 Minutes