“Where’d he go!?”

“For the last time,” Snowfall grunts to the panicking Dahlia, “we don’t know. What we do know is that he escaped. Wherever he went, we can bet it’s somewhere safe.”

Dahlia glares at the throw-projector, as if hoping Crimson would somehow reappear. The ward which watched the inside of the grand chamber was miraculously not blown out. The man does not reappear, not here or on any of the other wards she had spent entire minutes frantically shifting through. Still, she hopes. Though, all her hopes are given is a front-row view of a maniacal green stallion who is ordering his new slaves around.

“We need to go,” Snowfall speaks up again, reaching her hoof to the transponder’s lever. Her and her team are already prepared to teleport back to Canterlot, but all face the mare who has not moved from the edge of the bed. “At least we can rest easy knowing he saved himself. That execution could have gone much worse.”

“Red could’a lost his head,” Bulletpoint comments critically. “That Horis bloke? Somethin’ outta a nightmare. Be glad Red made it out.”

“… Where did he go?” Dahlia repeats to herself, depressed and quiet.

Feeling profound empathy, Strix purses her lips and walks over to the petrified tan pegasus. She gently places her hoof on her shoulder, causing her to jolt lightly at the touch. “He’s gonna be okay, Wisp. We all saw him fly away, right?”

Dahlia finally breaks away from the projector to look up at Strix.

“He’s, like, a super tough guy. He’s managed to survive everything thrown at him, right? Nothing is going to take him down. I’m one-hundred percent sure you’ll find him. I wish we could help you look for him, but…”

“But we must return to Canterlot,” Swirl interjects. “If we would like to see another day outside of the walls of the Dungeon, we will return to our posts and act as if this never happened.”

“… We didn’t help him,” Dahlia utters, looking back to the static of the projector.

“We may have failed to intervene, but luckily, he did not need it. The only plan we had would have likely made his situation worse. That… Horis. Had I gone through with my idea to translocate in to help Crimson escape, I would have been churned to paste by his magic. Though he is a threat beyond our understanding, he directly aided in Crimson’s escape. There is light in the darkness yet.”

A booming growl comes from the transponder when Snowfall pulls the lever, its orange magic dances and paints the wall. “Come on, Wisp. The sooner we get our shit together, the sooner you can start looking for him.”

Dahlia’s glimmering eyes remain on the screen for a few moments longer… before a deep exhale comes from her mouth. She powers down the projector. Strix offers to help her up with her wing. Dahlia responds by extending her own and intertwining her major feather with hers. Lifted up, she and Strix walk together towards the transponder.

Each of them take turns teleporting back to Canterlot’s bunker.

After they have all made their return, they take one last moment to mull on their situation. The Elite all give the tan pegasus some words to hold onto.

“Listen,” Snowfall starts. “With what we just saw, it’s safe to assume Equestria is in for a rude awakening. We don’t know what Horis is capable of or what his plans are, but that spectacle is good enough to tell us we’ve got a huge problem. Everything we know is changing, and even though we don’t know you very well, it’s obvious that you care for him as much as we do. If you know him at all, you’ll know he won’t be giving up easily. We should do the same.”

“We do hope you find ‘im, lass,” Bulletpoint speaks up next. “He’s a friend of ours. ‘N that means you’re a friend too. In this bloody country full of gang-trash and two-face scum… know you’ve got mates. If you’re ever in Cannalot, have the Castle’s front desk look us up.”

Ears rested on her head, Dahlia nods solemnly, silently appreciating the words even though they do not resolve her issue.

The Elite use the cover of night to slink out of the bunker and into the Castle grounds. The tan mare decides to remain in the bunker for the night, feeling too spent and depressed to try and venture the darkness of Equestria.

She sets the throw-projector on the ground next to the bed and climbs onto the sheets. She curls up into a ball and hugs her own tail. Her half-lidded eyes stare into the void.

Her mind screams, swears, and rips at herself for becoming so attached to someone again. The very moment she opened up, the very moment her walls broke down and she let him in… he is gone. The reassurance that he is not dead does little to soothe her self-hatred.

She feels as if she cursed him. She cursed everything to fail and fall apart just because she opened up. She can barely begin a thought, let alone formulate a plan to start looking for him. She knows she will, she feels like she will not stop looking for him until some sort of closure happens. If he dies or she dies, that will be the end of that. But until then, she cannot stop herself from endlessly searching. Nothing else in the world matters anymore. Nothing else.

She would love nothing more than to shrivel up and stop existing in this very moment. Tears begin to run. She does not choke or weep. The trails of sadness move across her face in the total silence of the bunker.

‎

---

‎

For the first time in his life, a true lightness courses through his body. At least, as far as he remembers. He cannot recall a feeling quite like this.

As he soars high over the dark nighttime world, through the raining clouds, he contemplates only one thing: his Arch. The essence that allows him to do things he could barely imagine himself. He pays little mind to the cutting winds and the cold rain clouds he blows through, instead relishing the sensation of his power running through his veins. He can almost feel them, every single individual cell in his body that harbors his life essence. It is… peaceful, almost. A stark contrast to the countless times he forced his power to awaken before. Strain, tension, and pain were the words he always thought of first when he contemplated his Arch, but tonight, the antonyms of each of those words are not just what he thinks, but what he feels. It is alive and flowing through him, and it feels… natural.

Even though his wet face, which blows like a missile through the atmosphere, is rested with a blank, almost depressed expression, he feels warm. Happy, maybe. Some sort of positive feeling that is drenched in remorse and regret.

He was right. He wasted his own life with petty vendettas and spite. He acknowledges the feelings that lead him down that path – as a matter of fact, they are still as real as ever. He still feels resentment towards Michael, his Arch, his lineage, but only now does he respect those emotions. He respects them enough now that he does not linger on them or let them control him. He truly understands now that all this has done is make him suffer... but it goes a step beyond acknowledging this now. He knew this all along, but supposes to himself that he was too prideful, in turn, too weak, to truly let go.

His sister would tell him time and time again to let go. The one person he always listened to, a girl whose word was his gospel, and he still did not budge, even at her begging. He knew his stubbornness was a force to reckoned with, but it nearly ruined his life… if it has not already. He cannot know what the near future holds, much less the far, but he hopes it is not too late to fight against the tides of fate.

That reminds him, he should visit Viola again now that he feels he can. He hopes she is not too upset at him, even though she has more than every reason to be. She has every reason to hate him for being so stupid, so god damn inconsiderate and foolish.

The worst of it, he believes, is that she is not the only one. He knows of two others that have every right to hate him for his stupidity.

He now faces the mental wall he knew he would encounter soon enough. On the surface of his muse, he simply picked a direction and flew after escaping Horis. He knows this is simply not true.

He has been flying for a while now. He feels his arm putting itself back together in real time from the hour or so that has elapsed. The rain has stopped falling, but the clouds are still dense.

He does not want to admit where his destination lies, even if he is purposely flying towards it. He tried to rationalize his decision; he obviously cannot return to Canterlot. With both the Horseshoes AND the Consortium working for his death, it is the last place he can show his face.

He briefly thought about returning to Dodge. Go back to his beginnings. With any luck, Dahlia would show up there again and find him. But he second-guessed the idea immediately. Dodge may not be an optimal location to stay in for the long term. With a train station relatively close by and Consortium scouts constantly patrolling it, he would not want to risk a haphazard stumble-upon against his favor. He will take the time to pay the lodge a visit, but he will not show up to stay there.

He tried his mind for another location, and in a brief flash, his mouth became sour. He scolded himself for even thinking of joining Lippy and Autumn to lay low, considering their remote location, but… no. Definitely not.

The more he thought about it, there is no place he can think of to hide himself away and still be relatively close to produce and commerce. He could certainly hide himself in a cave in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, but that will only serve to starve him and be too difficult to manage. He considered starting his own farm somehow, but that is also a lengthy and rather stupid idea. He would rather be far gone from Equestria before that time.

All of these mental plights he had surfed through during his flight served to build the foundation for his current decision. So many things can go wrong, and he is fully aware of this. He only hopes that his presence is not immediately shunned, regardless of being prepared for that outcome. If anything, he holds that the home will still be completely vacant.

This location should be perfect, both for him to be found, and for him to find. Even if his situation quickly became fucked to an astronomical degree due to Magnifying Glass and Horis, Dahlia is more than likely safe. She should be in the clear despite it all, but he could not be certain. Nothing in this godforsaken world is, he ruminates.

Pushing every ‘what-if’ aside, he solidifies his plan in his head. Tonight he will take advantage of his freedom, which was strangely granted with the aid of Horis. Nothing will stop him from putting his life back on track, even if there are none left to ride upon.

He briefly removes himself from his own mind, returning his focus to his flight. He has not looked down at the ground for a few miles, so he supposes he should reorient himself to the world. He stiffens his ethereal wings so he glides. Slowly but surely he loses some height and breaks through the bottom of the dense clouds. Looking down, he sees that he is approaching the east coast, nearing Equestria’s oceans and the harbor cities.

His attention is drawn to one of many beacons of light amidst the night, one bigger than most. The city of Baltimare. Definitely not a place he can go to, considering the condensation of hidden Horseshoes lurking about there. But that matters not, as the city is not his destination. A place hidden away from the bustle of the cities, but not too far from one to still be serviceable in the event he needs something quickly. It is a place that Dahlia could also potentially find him in… and perhaps another pony as well, even if he would rather find the home empty for sanity’s sake.

The risk is worth the reward, he thinks. There are no lurking eyes, wandering guards, or disguised gang members. From what he remembers, it has been left abandoned for weeks, if not months now. Hell, it even has a shield to prevent people or ponies from getting near it. And if anyone were to show up, he would be well aware before they could enter.

It is perfect in almost every way. He sees it now from his height; a dark, lonely spec on the precipice of a forest that travels west, and a quarter of a mile from the beach east. He is not too far from it now.

He begins to flap his wings again, aligning himself towards the home and re-entering the clouds above to hide his approach. He guesstimates the distance he covers before he emerges again.

He finds himself pleasantly surprised at being almost exactly above the home. He mentally compliments his own flying abilities – something he has done barely enough times to count with both hands. He still recalls the awful tumble he took as a child when he tried flight for the first time. A failure to control his elevation drove him like a dart into the wood fence of his grandparents’ home. He broke his right arm and lost two teeth on the landing. How his brother laughed, his dad shook his head in disappointment, and his mother and sister cried tears of anguish. By no means would he consider himself an expert, not even ‘good’ at it. Just well enough to do what he needs to. Dahlia would probably smoke him without even trying. But at least he will not embarrass himself now like he did then.

By this point, his immense speed has dried the rain off of him and his suit. He halts himself by flapping his wings once in a powerful forward counter-motion, ripping the sound barrier from the opposing force. He begins to fall straight down, posture upright and stiff, and he reaches terminal velocity during the long plummet. His eyes squint as he looks down, he holds his lame arm with his good one so it does not flail around wildly like his hair does.

The ground approaches quickly, or more appropriately, the backyard to the modest home does. He silently prays that Dahlia was right about the shield remembering him, or else he will splat like a bug to glass.

Now only meters away from the ground and the shield, he flaps his wings again against the direction of his fall, stopping his speed like whiplash. Wind booms from his powerful action, ruffling all nearby flora and fauna. He peacefully falls through the shield, rushed with relief, and lands on the grass with barely a sound. He faces the far wall of the backyard, towards the small river and the assortment of rocks that once triumphed over him some time ago.

He pulls in a deep, slow breath, and releases it with satisfaction. Safety at last.

He holds great pleasure in finally being alone in a peaceful place to unwind and get himself collected. He turns around towards the home, looking to shower himself off with the wonders of artificially heated water. He walks to the sliding glass door that leads into the house, reaching it and taking his fingertips to the notched handle.

He opens the door and… his blood freezes. He witnesses something that should not be. The hallway that leads to the front door is completely walled off by some sort of multi-colored nebula-like substance which twinkles with golden stars all around. Upon encountering this entity, the faint whispers he has grown accustomed to become louder. A prominent voice from a plane beyond murmurs into his soul. As if a lucid dream came to life, a figment resembling an outstretched appendage reaches from this galaxy-esque body to grasp him.

He grits his teeth angrily. He feels her knocking. And he will be damned if he opens the door of his soul to her.

His irises begin to shine. He debates fleeing, but whispers around him chant, encouraging him to remain put and act. Like flowing magma, he feels high body heat in his chest before it travels out towards his left hand. His body moves according to this otherworldly instinct to preserve itself - the most natural act in the world.

His left fist becomes coated in a thin film of golden light. He reaches out a clawed hand to intercept the thing that approaches him. As if copying him, this figment breaks out into a claw as well, one which aims to grasp him.

His golden hand clasps the opposing hand in the middle of the living room. A tug of war from the soul begins. The whispers become uncontrolled. A cacophony of voices clamor around him. Frantic uttering, whispers, lisps.

She wants him to give in, to allow her to pull him in again. With a clenched jaw, he keeps her at bay.

However, in a fixed instant of surprise, he finds that the energy that is trying to whisk him away begins to mend his broken arm. In real time, the slightly jutting bone and dried blood seep back into his skin, align, and crack into place. The only sign that his arm was ever damaged is the ripped sleeve of his suit.

Suddenly, the attacking claw ceases to exist. It fades like a banished spirit, leaving only Crimson's outreached hand in the center of the room. Complete confusion overtakes his face. He retracts both his physical and metaphysical hand at the same time, the larger one vanishing from existence. He then examines his mended right arm. He flexes his hand, just to make sure nothing is secretly wrong with it.

As soon as this happens, he feels intangible lips speak directly into his ears. “May I?” His eyes dilate at this voice - a feminine timbre that solidifies what he already knew.

“Fate,” he grumbles quietly to himself.

"… May I?" the whisper simply repeats.

Crimson squints at nothing. “Should’a asked nicely from the start.”

Again, from the nebula-filled hallway does the shadowed claw extend. It reaches towards him, he wants to counter its approach as he did before. But he heeds to her plea. He allows himself to be overtaken. His surroundings are blanketed over all around, making him feel as if he were standing in the core of a golden twinkling galaxy.

There, in front of him, he sees her now. Fate. The mare of shrouded unknowingness. Together they now stand suspended in this gleaming realm of stars, moons, and infinite nothing. Her own personal Rift. Rather than have something grounded in reality like he does with his own Rift, this is what she chooses to reside in.

This youthful pony dons a cold expression. Her cyan mane is styled into a prim and proper ponytail, her coat is lavender in color. Crimson beats his brows at the sight of her. His soul is burning in a mix of every emotion that is and will be. His mouth moves to spit venom, but a reservation has him holding back his vile tongue. Instead, he simply says, "Fancy meetin' you here, Fate."

The mare known as Fate looks away briefly, as if taking silent pride that her name was stated. She looks back at him with piercing golden eyes - those which glow exactly as his do. "A quaint turn of phrase, but appropriate. You apprehended me."

"Didn’t say please. You also ain't hidin' behind shades 'n curtains like you did before."

"I am doing nothing different."

"That the case. Then why can I see you now? How come you ain’t some sorta blur like you were before?"

"Something to ask yourself, I'm afraid."

He sees he will not get a clear answer and grunts, "After all this time bullshittin’ me and leavin’ me in the dark… why're you here?"

"I felt a strong yet familiar whisper begin to sing into the Weave, perhaps an hour ago. I was investigating this vigorous whisper… and it led me to you again." Her eyes gloss him up and down, as if staring at nothing particularly impressive. "Your Arch is shining much brighter than it was before, from one moment to the next. Impressive. I began to worry when I lost your whisper some time ago. I assumed the worst."

"My whisper, huh?” he rhetorically asks despite knowing what she is referring to. “What, you think I died?"

"When it became too faint to hear, I did. I'm happy to be mistaken. Now this means you can finally finish this once and for all, and I'm confident your Arch is bright enough to aid you."

The man shakes his head, taking a few steps closer to the mare. "You wait one god damned minute. I ain't gonna finish shit, not ‘till I know what you want from me and why you brought me to this fuckin' place."

"Why so barbaric? I was nothing but amicable last time we spoke. If you have questions, then all you have is to simply ask."

"Barbaric is takin' me away from my home. Barbaric is puttin' me in the middle of god damn nowhere 'n lettin' me rot. Not only did you lie to me last time we spoke, but you fucked me over.”

“I understand you have concerns and curiosities. Please, let us discuss them together.”

“Hrrh,” he grumbles at her dismissing attitude.

“Would you, perhaps, be more comfortable with a change in scenery? While you are in my Rift, I am more than happy to accommodate it for you.”

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

“… Then, may I ask for you permission once more?”

“For?”

“To reach into your most recent pleasant memory and obtain an environment you are fond of.”

“… So you’re askin’ fer permission now, but you didn’t the first time? When you remade Moonlight’s room?”

“I am not familiar with that name, but if you are referring to the laboratory-bedroom domicile from our first encounter, then yes. I took it upon myself to reach into your mind while your defenses were not raised. I remade that room based on your memory. I wish to apologize for being so forward.”

“I hope you know that I find satisfaction in bein’ able to keep you the fuck away from me now.”

“As you should. Privacy and power complement each other. But, now… may I?”

“If you skulk through anythin’ else while you’re in my head, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

She simply nods. Without needing to physically move, she appears directly in front of Crimson, floating impossibly in front of his face so that she is at eyelevel with him. She reaches out, gently placing her hoof on his shoulder. The magma in her eyes churn and swirl more energetically.

He feels it, every moment of it. She walks along the creases of his memories, aiming to peek into his most recent ones. She stops right at the front gate of his mind, immediately finding a pleasant environment. A home. A place where he is currently located. A place where she interrupted his arrival moments ago. She lets go of his shoulder, vanishes, and appears back at her previous location a few feet in front of him.

Crimson’s brows line above his eyes as his surroundings starkly pop back to reality. Or some slightly uncanny recreation of it. Everything around him looks normal again, it is Moonlight's home... except something feels… off. The very same sensation he felt when Fate recreated Moonlight’s bedroom in Canterlot.

Fate teleports again once the setting has been made. She sits herself on the middle of the smaller couch, caring not for the home itself. Her focus remains on Crimson, who stands near the sliding door to the backyard. “What is the first curiosity that I may satisfy?”

With clenched fists, he replies. “My whisper. You felt it, you followed it, and now you’re here. Great. What’s that mean fer me? What’s this ‘singing into the Weave’ bullshit?”

“It means that your Arch is truly awake, as it should be. Do you not feel a difference it its flow?”

“Yeah. I do. It ain’t hurtin’ me anymore when I use it. Care to explain that?”

“I do not believe it is necessary for me to answer such a self-explained question.”

“I insist,” he grits through his teeth.

Fate looks down at his cupped hands, finding no amusement from his action. Still, she relents with the looking away of her eyes. “I could not accurately answer such a question. As I said, it pertains solely to you. But I may help you understand the general aspect of your dilemma. Arch Angels – us. We have limitless capabilities. We are truly talented beings and are forces not to be trifled with. But as gifted as we are, there are common mistakes that many young or novice Arch Angels make while learning to use their power. In a way, they use their power incorrectly. Inefficiently.”

A mental spark flashes in Crimson’s mind. He admits only to himself that what she says sounds incredibly correct and familiar.

“It is usually simple to pinpoint the source of these inefficiencies since most Arch Angels fall into a set category in their class. For instance, Angels of Soul. Weave Watchers may attempt to use their power by harnessing their emotions. Too much emotion, at times. The abilities a Watcher possesses require the active avoidance of emotion to channel their skills effectively. String Singers are the opposite. They must harness every available emotion in their realm of reality to fuel their power. Angels of Body have their own criteria, and every sub-category of Arch Angel has their own, etcetera. Even if we ignore these specifics, an attempt to group you into one of the common mistakes others make, it would not help you. You are special. You find yourself in the direct center of a spectrum which encompasses an angel’s genetic skillset. This would likely mean that your power specifically is much harder to harness because it is easier for you to fall into these faults. Your power is balanced between every class of Arch Angel, which also means you can make all of their mistakes, rather than just one. But this also means you can learn to efficiently use every class of Arch. This is what makes you tremendously powerful. The mistakes you make are solely your own to learn from. Whatever feels most natural to you, whatever it is that awoke your power recently… it is safe to assume that is the fuel of your power. A fuel unique to you.”

The information clicks in his mind, and Fate sees this very apparently. She almost smiles at seeing him digest what she said very efficiently.

Crimson speaks up again, now glaring at her grimly. “So because of all this, I’m special enough that you had to take me from my sister at the worst possible fuckin' time. Answer me honestly, Fate. Why’d you really take me away from my home?"

Fate turns her gaze away again, looking towards the kitchen. "Have we not spoken of this before?"

"Yeah, and that explanation you gave before falls flat. I know better now. You said we’re defenders of our homes. If Arch Angels are 'defenders of their homes,’ why in the sam hell 'm I here? Why aren't you takin' care of Equestria?"

The mare keeps her face turned away, blinking listlessly. "... It is necessary."

"Bull fuckin' horseshit."

"There is no need for this hostility."

"Then tell me how it is. You did this, and you left me in the dark the first time we spoke. You didn't give me the full picture on purpose. I don't care what was goin’ on with Equestria or the fuckin' Weave when you took me away. I’m askin’ you why. Why’d you take me away?"

Her expression hardly changes, but subtly shows something akin to being mildly impressed. "I indeed left out certain aspects of conversation willingly, but it was done with the intention to allow your growth to naturally occur."

"I'll take a shit on yer 'natural growth.' You lied to me. And you know what? I think you've fucked over more than just me." This comment garners her attention, she now looks to him directly. "Heidi? Name ring a bell?"

The dull and expressionless Fate finally displays an emotion: astoundment. Her eyes widen, her pupils shift directly to him. “H-How do you know that name?" she asks hurriedly.

"Aren't you a 'Watcher'? Can't you 'observe' me? What happened to that?"

"I already explained to you that your whisper was lost some time ago. My soul could not find yours even with my most concentrated attempt. And now that your Arch shines and I am able to listen to your whisper, you have learned how to push away my approach. I could only now find you to speak to you again – something which I’ve been yearning to do for some time."

"Ch. Some Watcher you are.”

“Crimson,” she firmly states. “What is the significance of bringing that Arch Angel into this discussion?”

“Hmh. So you do know her.”

“Please. Answer my question.”

His eyes narrow further, noting her rather stark change in demeanor after he brought up the aforementioned woman. “Cherry to oblige. I had to fuckin’ kill her.” Her eyes expand even further at this revelation. “When I found her, it was like she couldn’t control her own body. I had to put down another one of our kind like a god damned dog. Tell me, 'Fate.' Did you ruin her life too?"

"I had no hoof in her placement in Equestria. She may have already been here. I assume long before the Great War ended. Her origin is that of Equus’ humanity, but in this particular string of time, you are likely better informed than I in the subject."

“’May’ have already been here?” So you’re sayin’ you don’t know when she came around?”

“I do not.”

Crimson takes one step towards Fate, causing her to pull her head back with something akin to fear. “… Miss Fate. What you just said then… was bullshit.” Her heart skips at being found out. “’N I suggest you don’t fuckin’ lie to me again. Or you’ll be dead faster than you can blink.”

Fate shifts her eyes away, squinting at nothing in particular. “… I would like to apologize—”

“I don’t need a fuckin’ apology. I need the truth.”

“T-Then, allow me to satisfy your concern with Heidi first. Would that be okay?” His vicious front does not relent, but he nods once. “Thank you. You had emphasized that she could not control her own body.”

“Yeah. Her Arch…” he trails off, failing to find the words to explain.

“What of it?”

“… It was all fucked up. Grey. Sad. Just the sight of it made me depressed. What happened to her?”

“Ah, I see. Interesting. If what you say is true, she experienced a phenomenon called a ‘fade away.’ Fading away is what occurs when the fuel that keeps your Arch alive, motivated, and powerful is exhausted. This can happen for many reasons, with the two greatest causes being denying its growth or lacking stimulation. Arch Angels need physical, mental, and spiritual fuel, which comes from whatever source that stimulates them. Different classes of angels pull stimulation from sources unique to them. A neglect of stimulation or fuel will cause their Arch to fade away.”

“… We can lose our Arch?”

Fate shakes her head. “No, we do not lose our Arch. Our Arch loses… us. It will remain in our bodies. It can even expand and become more powerful, even if it has faded away. The term is much more metaphorical than it is literal. Our Arch will never leave our bodies, no matter how tarnished the holder becomes, but it will be… broken. If you have made it this far in your development, then I'm certain you've met your True Self."

"... 'True Self?' Is that what you call my condescending-ass ghost?"

She nods once. "It is what I call mine as well, along with every other angel. Your True Self is the perfect reflection of your soul. You in your most unbiased state. What the soul desires is rationalized in a plane far beyond what an organic mind could reach. Your decision-making with your True Self is always wise and well-informed. Listening to your True Self is a must for any angel's growth. But. Once an angel has faded away due to their fuel being depleted, your True Self becomes... your Worst Self. A self which will work time and time again to put you down. To convince you, sometimes force you, to make decisions and feel certain ways that will ruin your life."

"Jesus, I couldn't imagine if that bastard got any worse. He's already a lot to handle."

"In your case, it is for the best that he is untoward. Your Worst Self will be even more to handle, which would bode terribly for your already-shattered mental fortitude. Fading away takes place only after the total destruction of an angel's wit."

His eyes fall to the ground briefly. His nose wrinkles in distaste at envisaging the scenario necessary for this phenomenon. It leads him to follow up a burning question. "... Why's it turn from gold to grey?"

"I could not explain why its coloration does this. All that I am certain of is that it is a very obvious indication that an Arch Angel has faded.”

“Reckon there ain’t no way to come back from this.”

“That is something I could not answer confidently. Perhaps it is possible, but I myself have never seen it happen. Assuming that one cannot revert a fade away may be safer, but not concrete.”

“... Her Worse Self. ... I guess that explains why I found her in the place that I did... couldn't imagine what was goin' on inside her soul.”

“I hope my explanation of the state of her Arch was sufficient.”

“It was. You know a lot about it.” He clenches his fists harder, glaring her down with the burning fury of his golden irises. “’N you didn’t think that could’ve happened to me?”

“... It was always a possibility.”

“Eat shit.”

“Crimson," she starts with a submissive tone while lowering her head. "I know your displacement has caused you much heartache. But please disclose your next concern. I wish to satisfy each one.”

"The one you keep skirtin’ around. The truth. And the moment you try lyin' to me again, I promise on my own grave that I’ll put you in the ground. You're like me, and I'm like you. I’ll call yer shit out before it comes outta yer mouth. So pick yer words wisely."

"Yes, you are like me, an Angel attuned in Soul. I know better than to lie to one such as myself."

"Yeah. That explains why you just finished lying to me." He glowers at her, taking a few more steps until he stands just before her. "And I know Fate ain't yer real name. So let's sever the head. Who are you, 'n what's yer name?"

"Please, sit. If you would." She waves the man towards the larger couch.

Crimson bounces his eyes between her and the offered seat. It takes a full downward push on his emotion to oblige, but he does. He takes a step backwards and to the left, glaring at her the entire way to the couch. He takes a seat and leans forward, elbows rested on his knees. He gestures his hand, beckoning her to speak.

"... My name is not Fate," the mare begins. "It is simply a title I have gained in the Weave. I am Lillian Lullaby, an Arch Angel of Soul. My attunement to Weave Watching, displacement, and general string maintenance has earned me the title 'fate.'"

"So yer specialty is ruinin' other people's lives."

"You have the wrong perception of me. My specialty is displacement. As in, displacing myself. I rarely displace other Arch Angels, or other instances of myself, as that may cause severe timeline inconsistencies and can potentially ruin an entire web. Not to say I have not, an obvious telling being yourself.”

“Wait… you can send yourself around?”

“I believe that is a given.”

“Is it? Because you made it sound like you can move around other ‘instances’ of yerself. Not just you,” he throws a palm which faces the ceiling at her.

“Correct. Other instances of myself can be moved. I am not the only me.”

“… The fuck.”

“Please provide me another concern.”

Crimson presses his thumb and pointer finger against his eyes, rubbing out both stress and overstimulation from the information he is receiving. With a sigh, he continues. “When you sent me here, why couldn’t I think straight? It felt like my body was movin’ on its own, and I’m ripe to assume it was yer fault.”

“You are mistaken. All I am responsible for is lifting you into my Rift and setting you down in Equestria. Where, specifically, in Equestria you are placed is not entirely up to me.”

“That’s a lie,” the man grumbles as his eyes flash even brighter for a brief second, ready to rise from the couch. Lillian furrows her brows and frowns. “I’ll have yer fuckin’ head, bitch.”

Lillian falls silent for a moment and closes her eyes, sucking in a tense breath before looking to him again. “Y-Yes. Again, my apologies for the untruth, even if minor. Your power is much more attuned than I anticipated. It makes me confident that you will continue to overcome every wall you will ever face.”

“The only wall I’m facin’ right now is you.” He lifts his right fist in her direction. “And the sledgehammer is right fuckin’ here.”

“Please, Crimson. I beg your pardon once more. The lie was based purely off the embarrassment I would feel admitting that there was a gap in my abilities. Let us not resort to violence for an innocent mistake.”

“When I said don’t lie, I fuckin’ meant don’t lie. No matter what it is.”

“Yes, I understand. Then, allow me to rectify my mistake and return us to our current topic. As I said, I lifted you to my Rift and placed you in Equestria. I had intended to place you directly in the chambers belonging to the Princess of the Sun, and allow your venture to begin from there, but… the truth is that my abilities of Weave Watching are still not perfectly refined. There was a margin of error in your relocation, and you were subject to it.”

“Guess nobody really is perfect,” he says mockingly.

“No matter how powerful you think you are, there will always be room to grow. This is a truth for many things, but especially for Arch Angels.”

“None of this answers my head-fog when I woke up.”

“I have no answer for you. As I said, I only moved you to Equestria. That is the extent of my actions. I would like to assume your lack of mental cognition had to do with your near-death experience. Your Arch was extremely weak when I first plucked you from your string. It barely kept you alive. You were lucky to have another Arch Angel at your side who is beautifully trained in her craft. You may as well have had the same mortality as a normal human, which would be indescribably pathetic for an angel attuned in Body.”

“Well that ain’t very nice, Lillian. What happened to civility?”

“I meant no disrespect, of course. It is merely an observation.”

“Whatever. What were you sayin’ before? About displacin’ folks?”

“Yes. I have displaced other Arch Angels from time to time, but I do so very rarely, and with great care. Normally, I displace my own self across Equestria's strings where I do not exist. I aid the strings closest to mine as best I can before returning here, to my home. Mind you, I do not move other iterations of myself, but truly ‘me.’ The other versions of myself have been successful in keeping their own eras of Equestria safe. They need not my help.”

Crimson notes the tapering in her tone, causing him to don an inquisitive look. “The way you’re soundin’ makes me think something's wrong.”

“… That is because… there is.” She locks her eyes firmly on the man who glares spitefully in return. “Crimson. Would you allow me the opportunity to explain my circumstances? With this information, the truth will be yours to see. The one you have been asking me for.” Crimson firmly nods once. “Thank you. I plead that you give me your undivided attention and your utmost patience while I relinquish this information to you.”

“I can promise you that at least one of those things is all yours.”

Her stress begins to radiate like an invisible fog. She takes in a deep breath, holds in for a moment, and lets it out. Her eyes shimmer a bit more vibrantly during her exhale. “… Then, I will first provide you all of the necessary details so that you may understand how I wound up where I am today.”

Again, Crimson nods once in acceptance.

“I was conceived by my parents during the latter half of the Great War. My mother, an Arch Angel, and my father, a regular earth pony, were killed when I was five years of age. I was in my early childhood when I was forced to bear witness to nearly every atrocity that war and violence could bring. My first true experience with my Arch was when I used it to find and kill the aggressors who murdered my family.”

Crimson’s expression softens slightly. Only slightly.

“As a homeless and family-less filly, I roamed Equestria, trying to stay alive. I used my Arch to defend myself from those who wished to take my life, changeling, dragon, and pony alike. I knew, even as a child, that I would need to love and grow my gift if I was going to survive in this terrible world I was born in. And I did. I spent every moment I could learning about myself. Speaking to myself. Listening to myself. I became enthralled with what I was capable of. I turned from barely able to survive on my own to thriving despite all odds. The enjoyment of being able to help myself eventually branched out to providing assistance to others. I gave a hoof to those in my home world, to all those pure of heart who needed the help. Eventually, I extended further.”

Her eyes shift up to the popcorn ceiling, using them as a place to rest her eyes as she continues to divulge speech.

“I learned how to enter my Rift. I learned how to tear open my Rift. I learned how to peer into the sea of time. I learned how to reach my spirit-arm into other strings to help them. And because of this, I became one of the Weave’s most powerful Watchers. The same can be said about many of my other iterations. The majority of us have the same upbringing, thus, the same outcome. I have not ventured far enough from my own string to see what came of my other iterations with vastly different beginnings. Nor do I want to. Such is the case with nearly every Arch Angel. In the event an angel learns to look into the sea of time, it is in their best interest not to travel too far from one’s home string, lest they become lost in the forever-infinity that is the sea, never to return home.”

Crimson continues to digest what she says, nodding in understanding.

“All of this exposition leads me to explain my... current circumstances. I’ve learned from watching my other iterations that humans in Equestria is... not normal. The fact that humankind bled through the fabric of reality and into my world was an anomaly on its own. I could not be sure what was the driving factor which caused my world to be different from the other Lillians who exist, but... that is the world I was introduced to. I thought it was normal, until I saw that it wasn’t.”

“... Y’know, I thought it was just me. Every fuckin’ pony in Equestria thinks humans bein’ there is normal. But with what you’ve said, it gives fact to what I was feelin’ inside. Their presence just never felt right.”

“Because it is not. Even if I am ignorant as to how they arrived, I know that they do not belong. They belong in their own world, with their own troubles and toils. Not here, in Equestria.”

“So, what’s this all leadin’ up to?”

“As I said, this all culminates to the circumstance I am currently present in. I learned the ability to peer into other worlds. Yours included, because it was so close by to my string. Humanity tainted my world. It caused my string to taper off into something that other iterations of me could never imagine... and Heidi was the stroke of paint which finalized my ruined canvas.”

“Heidi?”

She nods solemnly. “She was the Arch Angel who belonged in the human world, before whatever mishap caused her to appear in Equestria. Her task was to save her own world from catastrophe, whatever it was. I do not know anything about her home, save that she was taken from it at the worst time. Just like you, but for very different reasons. Yours has purpose. Hers was... unceremonious. It had no rhyme or reason. She did not deserve it, but it happened anyway. She was taken from her world. Her passion for life met a bitter end. Everything that mattered to her was taken away. Just like you.”

“She was... from the Great War?” Lillian nods once. “That would mean she's hundreds of years old. How?”

“Arch Angels are known to live several-times worth of their species’ lifetimes. Your aging slows greatly in your prime - whatever year that happens to be for your species.”

Crimson lines his lips bitterly.

“I will continue. I spent my years alive on Equestria focusing solely on my Weave Watching abilities. Using my attuned prowess, I could listen keenly on whispers. Whispers of the Rift and beyond. Whispers of other Arch Angels in other strings. It was how I knew when someone needed assistance." She takes a moment to inhale softly, then releases it with equal melancholy. "When I was nineteen, during a rather cold spring season, one whisper out of the infinite I was listening to became terribly loud. Crying, even."

"... Heidi's whisper."

She nods, gloom lathering her neutral expression. "This was when I first heard her whisper become so close. Dying, and faint. As soon as I heard it, I followed it for as long as I could. Long enough to find her. ... As much as I wished to help her, to give her a hoof and a shoulder to weep upon... she hated this world. She hated Equestria, me, the ponies who lived here, the dragons and changelings who attacked us... everything.”

“... You wanted to help Heidi?”

Again, she nods with ears falling to her head. “More than anything else. She was the one thing I could not give assistance to. She simply refused it. But, to recant earlier details, I found her in a cave, very far to the south in the Appleloosan Mountains. Before you ask, I have no idea how she managed to find a place such as this. The fact is that she did. And I followed her whisper, and that is where it led me – to the mountain’s innards. The cave was no ordinary cave. It was deep. It held a throne, pillars of ancient, beautiful carvings, a mess hall... nearly an entire Castle. One could even assume it to be a forgotten kingdom. She was alone in this paradise-like ruin which was constructed before the Great War was but a concept.”

“... Them mountains,” he hums in thought. “Same ones where the Doyens were. What was she doin’ all alone in this underground Castle?”

“Seclusion, if I must guess. She refused to rise from the throne. She sat there, spitefully ruing her circumstances. But there was something special about the throne itself that, at that time, she refused to explain to me. I would come and go from this underground burrow, doing my best to appease her by bringing her food and water. But she never ate. She never drank. And she never slept. I ignored this. I would continue my attempts to help her, explain to her that she should help ponykind win the War so we could sooner work to return her and her people home. She deemed it all pointless and refused my offer. Every day that I would revisit her and speak to her, the angrier she became with me.”

“With the War goin' on, shit hittin' the fan... pretty damn sure I'd feel somethin' similar. But it don't mean I'd give up like she did.”

“Regardless of the mentality which led Heidi to this decision, there was no reasoning with her. And at that time, I became fed up as well. She went farther than not helping ponykind. She refused to help herself. She was a very, very powerful Arch Angel. Grand in stature, beautiful in appearance, and incredibly resilient. The mark of the Body. An angel of Tower.”

Her half-lidded, reminiscing eyes become sharp and squinted.

“It was spirit-culling that she would waste this potential by being stubborn. One fateful day, enraged that she had let her life become a waste, I forcefully removed her from the throne which she refused to come off from... and in that instant, she attacked me. She decided in that moment to duel me to the death. I defended myself as best as I could. But as you might guess, an Arch Angel of Soul versus an angel of Body in a close-quarters combat situation is... one-sided at best. In a final attempt to rationalize with her, I forcefully abducted her into my Rift. I tried speaking to her without the weight and burdens of our mortal bodies, but again, she attacked me. And she slew me.”

“What?” Crimson blurts his atheism. “She... killed you? In yer Rift?”

She slowly nods twice. “It was... something even I did not understand at the time. As it turns out, an Arch Angel can kill another Arch Angel in the Rift. It does not matter who’s Rift it is. I could have slain Heidi just as easily as she did me. And she would suffer the consequence. This may surprise you... but the consequence is not death.”

His brows raise to crinkle his forehead.

“It is not as eternal as death. A severance, you may call it. What occurs when you are slain in the Rift is not a blackened world. It is not the afterlife. No. A slain Arch Angel in the Rift will remain alive there, in the Rift. They will persist there, just as any angel who dies. But their connection to their body will be severed. They will not be able to return to their body, even if the body is not dead.”

“Wait, wait, wait... this is doin’ works in my head. You just said the body ain’t dead. We ‘persist’ in the Rift. But we get killed?”

“As I said, we are killed, but death is not the consequence. Our soul loses its connection to the real world, rendering our mortal vessel useless unless forcefully mended by another Arch Angel.”

"... Safe to say Heidi weren't lookin' to fix you up."

"It goes with out saying..."

“... Shit. That’s as bad as just straight up dyin’. The hell goes on with our bodies when this happens? Heart’s still beatin’ since you said we’re still alive. What, they just lie there asleep, dehydratin’ ‘n starvin’ to death?”

“... Yes.”

“... God damn.” His jaw clenches his left and right mullers one after the other for about two seconds. "... So since we're here, in yer Rift... can I kill you again?"

"Heidi herself had tested that theory. I can no longer suffer harm. If you attacked me, nothing would happen to me. For what you see now is... solely my soul. Though you can attack it, me, it will not suffer physical harm. Do you wish to try it?"

He can sense fully that she is not lying. He looks down to his right hand which balls into a fist. Death threats have no meaning to her. At least, not here. "... I'm good."

Lillian nods before continuing. "Then, this is where my dilemma comes to light. Heidi slew me, rendering me unable to return to my body. ... I’m... not certain what sort of altruism remained in a spirit like hers, but after she and I both realized what had been done to me, she expressed remorse. It was then that Heidi explained that the throne she was perched upon was enchanted with a power that had been lost to time. A throne which allowed whoever sat on it to remain vigilant. Awake. Hydrated. And satiated. A magic throne which gave immortality to the one who sat on it.”

“... Christ. A chair that can keep you alive forever? No hunger? No thirst?”

“And no sleep. And one would never age a day.”

“Why? Why was she sittin’ on it?”

She releases another sigh, a breath built up by mulling bad memories. “... She told me, ‘I want to be alive long enough to see this world burn to the ground. I won’t do it. But one day, someone else will. And I will come off this throne in the same health as the day that my world was taken from me.’”

Crimson’s teeth grit tightly before he too needs to push out a sigh.

“... I could not know of the dark hatred that ran through her spirit. But she showed but one moment of mercy to me... as she had lifted my puppet-like vessel and sat it upon the throne.”

His eyes bulge. “That means you’re still alive.”

“... Indeed. And this is what I am referring to as ‘my current circumstances.’ I wish nothing more but to be alive again. And the possibility is there. I... simply need assistance.”

“... Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute." His front straightens like a brick wall. "Does this mean... you’re about to ask me for help?”

“... Yes, Crimson. This is where I wish to ask you for your assistance, and to finally give you the truth for your belonging in Equestria. I brought you to my world... so that you may help me.”

“Let me get this straight. You took me away from my home. And now you want my help?"

“... It was the only way.”

“Was it now? Was it really the only way? You couldn’t have asked before you took me away from my home? You couldn’t explain everythin’ from the start? You couldn’t have made this entire fuckin’ ordeal easier on me by just tellin’ me what you wanted me to do!? Shit, you couldn't let me say NO!?”

Lillian bows her head further the more exasperated he becomes. "Y-Yes, I know full-well that this is unfair to you, Crimson. I was afraid. You are completely in the right. I should have told you. I beg of you. I need this."

"What you need doesn't concern me. What I want is to see my sister happy. Now I'm stuck in this damn place, ruining the lives of the folk I meet."

Suddenly, she stops, as if thinking deeply about what is being said. “... Are you intentionally ruining their lives?”

“Course fuckin’ not.”

“Then why would you say it?”

“Because I-- … I only guess that I am.”

"Is that an educated guess?"

“Call it whatever you want.”

“What brings you to this conclusion?”

Caring not if she knows what he is talking about, he vents. “If you would'a never sent me here, Dahlia'd still be treasure huntin'. Moonlight would be happy in this home, not stuck in a place she hates. The Elite wouldn’t have had to put with my untimely intervention. Not to mention a number of other folk whose lives were changed or ended because of me. Your screwup shouldn’t have been my sufferin’."

"... May I ask you again for permission? To look inside your memories and... learn of the world which I could not be apart of?"

"And why the hell should I give you that courtesy?"

"I have nothing to offer you but my begging. Please, Crimson..."

Keeping his heart contained, he grits fiercly at her. "Yer pleads are worth nothin'. I'll let you, but because I'm bein' fuckin' nice. You get that?"

"Y-Yes. I understand."

"The same rule applies. The moment you go further than you need to with my memories, you can count everythin’ off the fuckin’ table.”

“On all that I am, I promise. I will only see what I need to so I may understand.”

"... Then do it.”

“Thank you, Crimson,” she murmurs earnestly. “Thank you.” He says nothing further, simply gazing straight forward into the dark kitchen.

Lillian suddenly appears next to him, as if she was sitting there the whole time. She reaches again to hold his shoulder. A conglomerate of emotions returns to both of them. Like a finger picking at his brain, every memory she taps into causes him to wrinkle his nose.

Then it all stops. Lillian takes her hoof off from his shoulder, setting it down in front of her next to the other hoof. She, too, now gazes blankly forward. "... This is... much worse than I imagined,” the mare starts, causing Crimson to glare at her immediately.

“Is it?” he states feverishly. “What’s wrong? What’s happenin’ that ain’t good?”

“You should know. The return of Horis.”

“Is his return really that bad?”

“I could not know for certain if this is the end, but... I have never witnessed a string where Horis returns. Every other Lillian I have seen does not contain his return. Such powerful and volatile magic condensed into one madpony... this could potentially damn us all.”

Crimson’s face scrunches with fury. He glares forward at nothing towards the kitchen again. “Well fuck it. I’ve got folks I care about. I won’t let this son of a bitch take anythin’ more away from me.”

“And I could help you,” she calls quickly. “I-If you use your mending soul on my physical form, you may be able to bridge my severed connection. Together, we could fight Horis.”

“Seriously? You really think I’m gonna trust you on that?”

“You know if I am lying. And you know for certain that I am not. Please, Crimson.”

Her echoing voice comes from so close now that she is sitting right next to him. Two decisions rack around in his head viciously. Two decisions that may lead to two very different outcomes. Resurrect Fate and trust her to help fight Horis... or leave her be. Forget this interaction ever happened, and deal with the newforming menace on his own.

Crimson stands up from the couch, walking towards the sliding door. He turns to face her, giving her a spiteful glare. “As fucked up as it... I understand Heidi’s decision. If I was any lesser of a man... I’da done the same.”

“Crimson,” she repeats in gradual despair.

“You took away what’s mine. My home. My sister. What I earned. My life. You took everythin' from me... I don’t think I can forgive you fer that.”

Lillian’s eyes widen, her ears perk up... then, they fall flat on her head and her eyes come to a squint. “... I beg of you.”

“Least I heard you out. You didn’t even give me that before you ruined my life.”

“... Please.”

He turns around again and takes his right hand to the sliding door. He opens it and steps out, saying nothing further. He feels her gaze piercing the back of his head, yet he does not acknowledge her anymore. He walks out towards the center of the backyard and closes his eyes.

He feels everything melt around him even if he does not see it. Like passing his soul through a spiritual doorframe, he ejects himself from her Rift, being placed back into Equestria. His surroundings reform again, the world pieces itself back together as molded clay.

He stands in the middle of the backyard garden, facing the back wall, the stream, and the line of rocks. Silence. Nothing but the gentle winds and ambience of the night. A moment of peace which is anything but peaceful. As he idles here, he digests everything that was told to him, everything he now knows. It causes a weight in his chest so dense that he can barely keep tears from forming and running. When the first droplet releases itself from the corner of his left eye, his fists clench fiercely.

“... You... bastard,” he utters quietly. “... You. Bastard.” His tone elevates. Then, with a sucking of breath through his teeth, he finally cries his anger and frustrations out into the night. “You BASTARD!”

After his cathartic release, he remains put in the middle of the backyard by himself under the moon's gaze. Tears come from his chin, staining his chest and the grass below.

He could scream his heart out more, if only to justify the hurt in his spirit at the unfairness of his situation. Despite what he feels, he cannot further afford to release his emotion that way. If anyone around who wants him dead had happened to hear that...

…

... Well, he is here. A home fully complimented with whatever he wants. He ponders briefly on the thing he wanted to originally do.

A warm shower. Maybe that will help wash away some of the pain seeping from every pore in his body. So he supposes he should do that. No matter how pointless it all feels.

“Maybe the shower will get taken away from me too...”

He spins about-face and returns to the house. During his walk over, he barely registers the utterly horrified mare that stares back at him from the opened sliding door. His lazy, jaded eyes lift from the grass to her, taking about eight seconds for his face to contort with dismay once his furled mind finally registers what he sees.

Moonlight, pale as snow, stares back at him from the frame of the door. She gawks as if she is bearing witness to an eldritch horror. Mouth agape, pupils trembling, her breath picks up in pace.

They simply stare at each other for far too long. This serves only to make Moonlight’s frantic breaths even more hectic. She panics in place, unable to act, unable to think. Unable to breathe.

Crimson’s shock-raised brows twitch. She starts to choke. Her vibrating pupils fall to the grass. She takes one step backwards, ends up stepping on the slack of the deep blue scribe robe she wears, and slips onto her rear.

Crimson’s body burns horridly. He barely realizes that he already began moving towards her - his mind stuck in purgatory.

Nothing feels real. Nothing feels right. Neither of them understand what is happening.

Like a puppet on a string, Crimson reaches Moonlight in the living room and he slumps down onto the ground next to her. He reaches out and pulls her in by her robe, resting her head on his lap. His eyes glow listlessly, coursing his power into her locked-up body.

An overwhelming mixture of mental and physical pain stiffens him. Her very core begins to scream and cry to him, her voice is overlapping maniacally. This mixed with the almost unbearable agitation coursing through him effectively snaps him back to reality. He now comprehends what is happening. She is having a heart attack.

Panic sprints through Crimson. In this moment, his brokenness and despondency leaves him, instead his focus becomes Moonlight. One of the dearest things he cares for is now in his mercy. His body smolders in agony as he pulses her heart, trying to get its rhythm back and stop the palpitations from killing her. He inexplicably feels weaker as he keeps tending to her, and he cannot understand why. This should not be taxing him so fiercely, but it is. Anguish from every physical and emotional direction does not seem to end. The voices of Moonlight do not relent – emissions of agony and torment he never thought he would ever hear from such a meek mare.

As he focuses in funneling his Arch to aid her, he hardly realizes the clean gashes forming upon his forearms. If his right sleeve was not torn, he would have missed it completely. His disbelief is erased when he bears witness to the color of her coat fill back from a ghostly pale blue to her original pastel color.

With a trembling right hand, he moves to lift one of the little mare’s robe sleeves. His eyes dilate with shock. Several roads of evenly spaced horizontal cuts travel from the joint of her hoof and foreleg, all the way up towards her chest. They disappear from sight as they are stolen by him and reappear on his arms.

He is startled when she speaks suddenly, so quiet and weak it almost blends amidst the endless cries that attack his mind.

“You’re not real… … you’re not real…” Her mouth moves. She speaks these words. He rides the same sentiment she does. “You’re not real…” Her breathing begins to regulate again. The heart attack seems to be subsiding. “You’re… you’re not real…” The tears that race down her face have wetted his lap. His own tears, which run with equal vigor, do the same. “You’re… not real… you’re… you’re not…”

Her words fade. They drown out at the same time her eyelids fall.

“You’re… … yh… hn…” The pain stops completely when her consciousness flickers out. Crimson is left with her resting form on his lap.

Thunder rumbles outside. The storm seems to be traveling their way. They remain together amidst the dark, cold night.

Nothing feels real.

‎

‎

At some point through the night, the storm had reached east Equestria. Crimson has sat himself on the reclining sofa chair in Moonlight’s room, having rested the unconscious mare herself on her own bed.

Hours have passed, but he could not be sure how many. If any, even. It is still night from what he can tell. It feels as if he as been sitting here for a lifetime, waiting for her to come to. He spent this time sitting on the chair, staring blankly forward, blinking on autopilot. He had not moved an inch, neither had Moonlight. Not one cohesive track of thought has passed through his mind, and he is aware of this. It strikes him that, that in itself is a cohesive thought. Thinking about being unable to think about anything is still a thought. A terribly useless thought that wasted nothing but time.

…

Nothing feels real.

“… Huh…”

A huffed breath escaped the sleeping mare. He thought she would remain asleep until morning. His eyes and head crane towards her, finally breaking his stiff monotony. He watches as her body struggles against her mind, the unsteady phase of waking up but still being asleep.

“… Huh… nnhuh…”

Her eyes lull open, but it is apparent she is still asleep. Maybe some sort of fever dream that she is trying to snap out of. Pity wells inside him at seeing her struggle, but he knows it is only a matter of time.

“Huh… gh—huh...” her chest puffs up, causing Crimson to furrow his brows. “Huh-gh-hgh—”

He leans forward, getting a closer look to see if she is oka—

“HUH!”

Startled, Crimson sits back in the recliner with widened eyes. Moonlight herself has suddenly shot up from her laying position, now sat up and staring forward with popping eyes and grains for pupils. The man stays silent as to allow her to reacclimate to her surroundings.

She does not look like she is calming down. Her eyes dart short distances left and right, until she tardily realizes his presence. She now glares at him, unhinged-like as her pupils remain totally dilated.

The silence between them becomes very uncomfortable. Crimson feels a frog in his throat, and Moonlight is far from looking like she is ready to speak.

“… Hh—” Crimson tries voicing… something. He does not know what he even wanted to say, simply starting something to end the silence. He fails terribly when his throat catches, ending him before he began.

“You.” Moonlight says unnaturally firmly. Her eyes, still tiny and trembling, do not look away from his. “You…”

Crimson clenches his teeth.

“… You’re not real. You’re not here.”

His jaw pops from clenching his teeth so hard. His body finally works the gears to divulge speech. “… I am.”

Moonlight’s body shivers from her muzzle to her hoof, taking in the deep drawl of his voice. It is undeniably real. “… Y-You can’t… you can’t be real. W-Why are… how are… you…”

“I’m… sorry fer intruding, I… I didn’t know you were home…”

“Cr…” Her mouth stops at that vowel, hesitating to finish the whole word. The man says nothing, giving her all the time in the world to say what she wants to… or rather, what she does not want to. “… Crim… son…”

The man puts up a painfully fake smile, holding it long enough to say, “… Howdy… Moonlight.”

Again, chills pass through her body when her name is said. The heating of her body and the tensing of her chest, the indicators she always feels before she begins to cry, yet her eyes do not water. They feel dry and tired. “… How…?” A brief pause breezes after her single word. “… How are you… here?”

Crimson takes a moment to lap around the question. He is forced to confront the wall that he felt coming. With everything she just went through, the utter chaos that Canterlot became for not only him, but for her as well, it was foolish to think she would not have retreated far away and isolated herself… and yet, here he is. Ruining her peace. He supposes the least he can do is try to explain himself, and maybe, just maybe, apologize with whole-hearted sincerity for the way he treated her. She did not deserve this, but he deserved everything he got until now. Maybe it was destiny for them to wind up here again, glaring at each other like deer in headlights in the darkness of her dimly lit bedroom.

Looking down from her and towards the sheets, Crimson licks his lips to try to prepare his excuses. “… I… flew here. With my Arch. I was… I was arrested. The Guard took me in after… y’know.” He looks up at her briefly, to which her trembling eyes speak acknowledgement without need for speaking. “… They took me on a train, and…” He stops. He thinks that perhaps detailing the events of Horis or his own execution is not the soundest idea, considering her completely shattered mental health. “… And, I… I managed to get away. I just... I couldn't think of another place I'd rather be than here. A place that's... safe. That I actually like. ... And... maybe... just maybe, find you here again. Like I said, I beg yer pardon for intruding. Be more than willin’ to leave if you’d prefer it.”

Moonlight has not removed her eyes from him. The sheer aggressiveness of her locked-on staring is strangely making him squeamish, even if he does not shuffle around or try to adjust himself for awkwardness’s sake. A thick silence encompasses them before the mare speaks. “… You,” she says very firmly.

He looks up at her, pursing his lips again.

“You broke-- … you broke your promise. You didn’t… you didn’t take care of yourself, like you said you would. You were nearly killed. Then you disappeared. I-- I counted. I counted the days. You were gone. Gone from me. For fifty-nine days. Fifty. Nine. Whole days. And then, you come back. From nowhere. To kill… him. Magnifying Glass. He tried to… hurt me… and you came back. And stopped him.” As she was speaking, her body seems to be restarting its regular function and grounding itself. Her eyes have slowly expanded to their regular size, her constant tremors have ceased. She continues to stare at him, dreary and depressed. “… Why?”

“… Why?” he repeats, unsure of what she is implying.

“Why did you return, just to save me? I know you don’t care about me. I know I don’t matter to you. So… why?”

“That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Then why did you break your promise? I trusted you, even though I knew I shouldn’t have. And you almost got yourself killed again.”

“It…” He clenches his fists. “I… I’m sorry. There was a lot goin’ on, and… my team. They were gonna die if I hadn’t done anythin’.”

Obviously dissatisfied with this answer, Moonlight tilts her head at him and continues. “To make matters worse, you lied to me. You not only broke your promise, but you lied to me.”

“When?” His expression becomes intense, his brows furrow deeply.

Only now does she let her grim gaze fall from him, down towards the carpet near the door of her room. “… You said… you weren’t interested in… my kind. You said you didn’t see us that way.”

Confusion overtakes his face.

“You started dating Lightheart, right after you told me you weren’t romantically interested in ponies.”

“What!?” His clenched fists pop as he sits up on the chair, almost falling out of it. “Who in the god damn world told you that stupid lie!?”

Moonlight lifts her orbs to him again. A wave of emotional searing pangs him when a tiny, depressed smile puts itself on her lips. “The same pony you killed for trying to hurt me.”

“Moonlight, that piece of shit lied to you! He tried usin’ you! Hell, he tried raping you! Why’re you taking that scumbag’s words to heart!?”

“… Maybe he wasn’t the stallion we all thought he was… but he seemed to know a lot about you… and the secrets you might have had.”

The accusation lights his soul on fire. “M-… Moonlight, I can’t believe the words comin’ outta yer mouth right now. You’re tellin’ me you really believe that rat bastard. You believe that I went outta my way to have a thing with Lightheart.”

“What other reason did you have to visit Las Pegasus on the twenty-third of last month?”

“I—It—” He stops again. His brain sparks briefly at the information presented by her. The fact that she knows the specific day, even admitting she tracked the individual days, stops him momentarily. “I… I wasn’t… I wasn’t there to meet her. She weren’t even there, she was out doin’ some sorta field project. All I wanted to know was how to get this fuckin’ thing off.” He reaches to the collar and yanks it with enough force to cause it to spark, even if it was not intentional to pull it that hard. “Magnifyin’ was there. He’s the one who told me where she was. Matter of fact, I had asked that scoundrel how you were doin’. I asked him to give you my best regards… and you know what he told me…”

Moonlight rightens her head from its tilted position, only to tilt it the opposite direction.

“… He told me that you’ve moved on. That you ain’t bother to think about me. From what you just said, should I trust what he says? Should I believe him and think you forgot about me? That fair to assume now?”

Moonlight eyes him silently for a few seconds, blinking not even once. “… And if I told you that it was true?”

Crimson’s eyes dilate, briefly flashing with golden energy. He stands up from the recliner so quickly, his form gusts air around him and ruffles curtains, the bedsheets, and loose papers near the ANA. “Then--!” He starts with a raised voice, one louder than he intended to have. He catches himself becoming intensely emotional and pauses. Moonlight does not even move a muscle, simply staring back at him with her tilted head. “… Then…” His fists tremble. “… Then I’m caught wonderin’ why the fuck you’re tellin’ me any of this. You obviously don’t care anymore, so why bring this up.”

“… Now you know how I felt.”

His brows wrinkle his forehead at her words, his glare deepens with perturbation.

“Now you know how I felt when he led me to believe you left me behind. You stopped thinking about me. You didn’t care about me, even from the start. You showed me over and over again that I wasn’t worth enough to you. That I wasn’t worth taking care of your own health for. You left me, forgot about me, and went to date somepony else. Do you have any idea how I felt? How I feel now? Do you have any idea how I felt when the human from another world came into my life and made me feel special? Not the ugly, superficial feelings Magnifying or anypony else gave me… but the feelings that tell me I'm truly being cared for and admired? You were kidnapped and sent here by Celestia, you were so angry and confused, all you wanted to do was go back home to Earth and forget about Equestria… but you still took the time to slow down, spend time with me, and make me feel special. You broke me out of my shell. I went back to Canterlot to try and blend back in with my old friends because you gave me the courage to do it… and you know what?”

Crimson blinks once, teeth grinding against each other for what is to come.

“… I hate myself for listening to you.”

He feels his chest compress. He cannot start a word or rebuttal.

“I hate that you made me feel everything I shouldn’t have felt. After my first nightmare with Crescent, I wanted to be alone for the rest of my life. I wanted to be here, in my home, with nopony else to bother me. Not even my own parents. I’d conduct my research and do everything I could ever want in the comfort of my home. But, for some reason, Celestia was completely adamant about making me feel less lonely when I said I was fine. I never asked for it. It was the one thing I could not convince her to change - to stop caring about my seclusion. Seven years later, she sends me a surprise and... it’s you. I hope she’s happy, because the result of what she did caused my garden to now be overgrown, my house to be dusty and cold, and the kitchen and the pantry to become full of spoiled food that needs to be thrown away. And as much as I would like to fault Celestia... I blame you. For giving me a chance. For making me feel special. For making me… not want to be alone anymore.”

Her words are like sandpaper to the walls of his heart, grinding away at his resolve and strength. He feels horrid. He feels like throwing up.

“You left me with all of these emotions. I already know I’m worthless, but you made it clear to me.”

“… But… I…”

“At least... for the two months you’ve been gone, that’s what I thought you did…”

Lightning courses through his body – an unnerving realization of her dichotomy enacted by having led him on. He understands now. This is what she felt. But it is time for the truth.

“I thought you left me. I thought you didn’t care about me. The pain those feelings put me through are still inside my heart. But when you appeared, like a shadow in the night, to stop Magnifying Glass before he could hurt me… I knew it… I knew that I had been lied to by him. Everything he said, all of the pain I went through thinking you forgot about me, or even hated me… it was him lying. He was lying to try to get to me. He made me believe you hated me, and I really thought you did. I thought I should move on… put you behind so I can… live. Live and be happy. But I couldn’t let it go. I don’t know why I couldn’t let you go. And when he tried to hurt me, you showed up for the first time in months just to save me. So I want to ask you again, Crimson… why? Why did you come and save me? After all of that time, why now?”

“… It--” he starts, his voice breaking terribly. He stops, steels himself, and starts again. “It was all just a coincidence. Right time and the right place. All I was supposed to do was break into yer room and steal the belt. I had a mission to do, it was supposed to be simple. And I failed it… because… I just…”

As he trails off, she picks up, “... You just what?”

The voices in his heart and mind scatter aggressively as he stuffs every boiling feeling down. “I couldn’t watch him do that to you,” his voice echoes over itself as his Arch spills out into his body and soul, his emotion overtaking him for a moment recalling the event. “I…” He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, calming himself down and letting his Arch revert to its passive state. “… I care about you, Moonlight, but… I was only there by happenstance. Bein’ able to save you from that piece of shit was… not intentional.”

She takes some time to internalize this information, seeming to still not be satisfied with it. “It was… just a coincidence, then?”

The man nods twice solemnly.

“… You could have just left me. You could have used that time to take Uru’s belt and leave… I’m sure neither me nor Magnifying would have noticed while he…” she trails off.

Another shock runs through his body at her egregious words. “Like hell I would’ve.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you save me if you had a mission to do? If it was just happenstance, why ruin your mission to help me? Why break the law to help me?”

“I already said why. I care too much about you, and I’d find myself behind bars any day if it meant keepin’ you safe. I should have done more. I missed you so much... and I thank the alignin’ stars that I was, at the very least, able to stop Magnifyin’.”

“Crimson? Do you know how much heartache you would have taken away if you just… came to see me? And told me this? If I was in a position where I would have to break the law to see you, I would have. But with Magnifying and the Consortium breathing down my neck, how could I?”

“I never faulted you fer not lookin’ fer me.”

“I know. But what I’m saying is... you’re willing to end somepony’s life for me, but you wouldn’t break the law just to try and come see me? Even for a little? If you were able to sneak into my room like you did for the belt, without so much as a trail of wind behind you... why did you not do that once for me? To at least tell me that you still cared?”

“It’s… mh,” he grunts, becoming increasingly frustrated with himself at being so poorly coordinated mentally and emotionally. She is more than right, he could have found a way to see her if he really tried. Even if caught, he thinks it likely would not have ended nearly as grim as his current situation. “… I know I should’ve. I know it. ... I’m sorry.”

“I don’t understand you, Crimson.”

He feels he has no way of following up from here. Now that he knows she is fully aware of the circumstances, and how terribly unfortunate it was for the both of them, there is nothing more he needs to say, or really should say.

Moonlight returns her head to its up-right position before releasing a deep, quiet sigh. She stares blankly forward, back to the carpet near the door. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Maybe I really am as terrible as I think I am. Lots of ponies say that I’m too nice. Some ponies say they even look up to me. But if that’s true, why do ponies want to hurt me so much? Ponies wouldn’t want to hurt someone who is nice.” She looks up to the man again. “You think I’m nice, right? Crimson?” The man nods trepidly to her words. “Then, why didn’t you keep your promise? All I wanted was for you to take care of yourself, to show me I mean something to you. But you broke your promise and left me behind. Why can’t you just go away? Forever? Why do you keep coming back? Why do you keep giving me hope that you actually care about me?”

“B-Because I do, Moonlight!” He stammers heatedly. “Stop makin’ me repeat that!”

She lines her lips solemnly, letting her ears fall to her head. “… I wish you didn’t.”

Her simple phrase jerks his spirit.

“I wish you would have left when Celestia sent you here. Because now, I’m miserable. You’re miserable. We’re both… miserable. I could have lived alone, like I wanted… instead of wanting you by my side.” The deep ponds of grief that are her pupils glimmer, finally taking in some light instead of banishing it away. “I knew you were trouble since day one. The day you decided to ignore me and pick up that rock a second time. But I still let myself fall in love with you. And I’ve suffered for it ever since.”

His vibrating pupils gawk at her as she regresses into still silence. She does not bother looking up to him to gauge his reaction or… anything.

Nothing feels real in this moment.

Crimson finds his left leg suddenly taking a step forward. It felt impossible, it moved on its own. His right leg follows suit. He walks towards the bed, around to the left side where Moonlight sits. He halts himself as he stands over her, and yet, she does not move. He comes down onto both knees at the edge of the bed, his eyes locked with the ones which refuse to look back at him. He barely gives thought to the action, whether or not she will react negatively to it, but he does it anyway. He reaches both hands in and holds Moonlight’s right hoof, cupping it firmly.

Only now does she look towards him, their noses but inches apart. Their glittering orbs gaze into each other with a profoundness that never ends.

Crimson hears the voices again – her voice, all meshed into one. Upon touching her, her spirit cries and howls to him involuntarily. Her very core is venting anger, frustration, depression, self-deprecation, sadness, and everything inbetween into his soul. A multitude of clashing and overlapping emotions tickle the back of his mind. It all feels horrible. But all pale in comparison to the horrible screaming desire of self-destruction.

Crimson looks down to his right forearm, exposed under his torn suit. Moonlight follows his eyes and stares as well. They both eye the gashes that paint his arm, slowly healing themselves out of existence. He then lifts his attention to her directly while she keeps looking down.

“… I’d like to think Magnifyin’ did this to you.”

She only shakes her head in response.

“… Why, Moonlight?”

She shrugs with little enthusiasm.

“That was a lot of cuts, Moonlight. How long were you goin’ for?”

“If we're basing it off on the moment I saw you outside, then… I got home… um… three hours ago. I think. I started... maybe thirty minutes ago. I almost fell asleep. I heard a really loud crack of wind, but I ignored it. ... But, then, I heard you scream outside a few seconds later. That's when I really woke up.”

“Jesus, girl.”

“You scared me. I didn’t even get to clean the bathtub.”

His expression flexes grimly. He gently lets her go, the wailing voices of Moonlight’s psyche cease in a brutal instant. He rises from the side of the bed and makes a slow trek to the door. Moonlight watches him come up and she stares at his back as he leaves the room.

The man exits and walks to the restroom, where the light is still on but the door is mostly closed, only left slightly ajar. He pushes it open and feels his blood go cold. The floor of the bathtub is covered in countless streaks of red which all march right into the drain. The only part of the tub which has no blood is made obvious – the lonesome spot where she was sitting opposite of the drain. One of the edges of the tub’s body sits some sort of gardening tool with a small, refined blade upon a plastic handle. The blade is still marred.

Grimacing, Crimson moves the curtains and reaches for the valve. He turns on the hottest setting of water possible and allows it time to heat. Caring not about the heat, he begins cupping water with his hands and dispersing it on places where the shower head does not reach.

Most of the blood is washed away. What is left are the very dry spots which will need to be cleaned by chemicals. At least now there is less that will stick to the ceramic. With a deep exhale and the dropping of his shoulders, he turns and returns to the bedroom.

He steps in through the frame. Moonlight is already looking his way, as if waiting for him to come back. He returns to her side and gets on both knees, eyes locked on her the whole time.

“… That was a lot of blood,” the man comments.

She nods twice.

“This ain’t the solution to yer problems, Moonlight. This… this ain’t right.”

“Thank you for cleaning the bathtub for me. If that’s what you did.”

“You’d— Moonlight. No. Please. Listen to me.”

“It’s okay, Crimson. I used to do this all the time, after Crescent hurt me. I don’t remember when I stopped, but… now I remember why I used to do it. It… helps.”

“Moonlight,” he reaches his hands to her hoof again. She does not protest his approach, and as a matter of fact, she smiles. It haunts him to see it, it distracts him for a moment. “… There was near enough blood in that tub to kill you. This ain’t alright.”

“It’s not?”

“N--!” He catches his tone quickly and levels it out. “No. Moonlight. Not even a little bit.”

“But I’m not hurting anypony.”

“Yer hurtin’ yerself!”

“… I’m not hurting anypony important.”

“Ghk—Damn it,” he shakes his head vigorously. A repressed memory, a tale told, resurfaces in his mind. “This… ain’t right, Moonlight. Now I feel it’s too late to bring this up, but... I’d heard a rumor some time ago. That you’d ended yer own life.”

“Oh. I heard that one too. I think it started after Celestia and a few guards found me unconscious in my shower in Canterlot. After everything with Crescent.”

His mouth hangs open in atheism. “… Christ, Moonlight…”

“I don’t know why that rumor started. I was still alive.”

“Not if you keep hurtin’ yerself! It’s clear as day why some folk thought you did. This. This is unacceptable. I can’t and I won’t let you do this to yerself anymore.”

“Does this bother you?”

“Yes!” He chuckles with a frown of desolation, squeezing her gently. “Course it does!”

“Why?”

“B-Because! I ain’t wanna see you!-- … be…” he starts to drift, “… hurt.” The taste of metal invades his mouth.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt either. It didn’t stop you from hurting yourself.” The man squints at her hoof, the one he holds dearly. “But since it bothers you, I won’t anymore.” He looks up to her, surprise overtaking his gloom. “… If you’re here, and you’re caring about me, I won’t. But if you don’t want to take care of yourself, and you get hurt… I want to be hurt with you. I will be hurt with you. I won't allow you to... help me, like you've done tonight. I will be hurt with you.”

Her words seep into his heart like a dagger to the inner flesh. He knows full-well she is not trying to be malicious. She is not trying to hold something over his head or be spiteful. She genuinely wants to suffer alongside him for a reason only she would know.

He sees it in her eyes. Her mind is shattered due to what she experienced. Even if time put her back together, she would not be the same. He could cry for her right now, relinquish tears of sadness and pity for the breaking of such a beautifully innocent soul. The challenge for him is not to – to stuff it down as deep as possible for her sake. The last thing she needs is more tears.

Moonlight’s eyes peacefully come closed. “… I’m… sleepy…”

“Y-- … You wanna lay down?”

She tiredly nods twice, opening her eyes half-way. Gently removing his hand from her hooves, she sets it down on the sheets before scooting over to the other side of the bed. She folds the blankets over on the side she was just on, leaving it open and offered.

Crimson takes this pleasant surprise with an internal smile, as forcing it onto his face is too demanding for his current spirit. He accepts the offer with no further words, climbing onto the bed and resting on his back. As he shimmies to get his lower body under the covers, he feels the little body next to him doing the same. Once they both lay comfortably, they glance over to one another at the same exact time.

Knowing it might be a bad time to speak, he does so anyway with a voice just above a whisper. “After everythin’ you had to put up with… you still want me around?”

“You should know by now. I’m hopeless.”

“Please don’t say that about yerself.”

“Why? It’s true.”

“Because. If it is true, then I’m hopeless too.”

He spots a certain twinkle in her eye. Something that reassures him, lets him know that while the destruction is heavy, it is not too late to rebuild.

Crimson offers his left arm. As if it were going to be taken away from her if she reacted too slowly, she snatches it and latches onto him. Watching that her horn does not impale him, she nestles her head on his shoulder and holds him tightly. He softly holds one of her hindlegs with his hand.

Crimson keeps his eyes rested on the ceiling above him, feeling oddly nostalgic. Two months is not a long time, relatively speaking, but it feels like it is. It feels like a different life-time ago he was here, doing exactly this with her. Maybe not ‘exactly’ this, but to him, it is all the same. Now, however, the feelings involved in and outside of him are much different.

He feels like he should say something, anything, to her very indirect love confession, but what to even say. There is nothing his mouth could sound right now that would be even remotely appropriate or accurate to describe his sentiments.

Maybe that is why he does not say anything, he thinks. There is no need. Because instead of speaking foolishness or false promises, he will instead show her. Show her what he should have when they first moved back to Canterlot, when he first promised to her that he will take care of himself. Not because he fears confrontation now, it is the complete opposite, but because he wants to show her that he cares about her feelings and will do all that he can to respect them.

He hates himself for being the stubborn piece of work that he is and was. He only hopes it is not too late to try and make things right, not just with Moonlight… with everything.

“... If you could go back,” Moonlight suddenly begins with a low, tired hum, “... what would you do differently?”

“... How far back?” Crimson responds with the same volume.

“... As far back as it needs to go to change that one thing.”

Crimson ponders this very deeply, wondering what exact moment in his life left him in this position. “... When I was fifteen. After my older brother died. I remember that hot, summer day. Burnin’ like the sun above. Got home after rangin’ the cows to my mother ‘n my sister cryin’. My ex best friend was there, breakin’ the news to my family that Vigil was killed. If I could go back... if I could change one thing... it would’a been not to hide my Arch from Michael. The thing he loved the most about me was my gift. It’s why he used me ‘n stood close – made me think I was his friend. Then, when I figured out his brother Dern killed my family, he found out I was gonna kill Dern. So he backstabbed me. Threatened the lives of my ma’ ‘n sister if I didn’t work with ‘em and use my Arch. The very thing my pa’ wanted to avoid. That’s why I made it a point to hide it away from him. No matter the cost.”

His eyes stare into the echoing nothingness of wrenching thoughts, where Moonlight gives him her earnest attention.

“... And I did,” Crimson continues. “Hid it from him well. Too damn well. ‘At all costs’-type well... and it wasn’t worth it. None of it was. It made me a worse man. A worse person. If I could go back ‘n change one thing... that would’a been it.” He feels Moonlight’s head nodding, indicated by her mane rubbing against him. He looks down to her, himself now curious. “... ‘N you?”

“... If I could go back,” Moonlight begins, doing as Crimson did by regressing mentally into painful paintings of the past. “... There’s two, actually. I don’t know which I want more.”

“What would those be?”

“... The first would have been staying true to my original desire. Becoming a teacher. Turn away all of the notoriety and prestige of working as a Researcher so I could teach at Magic Kindergarten. The second would have been to be true to my desire again, but in a different way. I would have commissioned Celestia’s help to adopt Furi and go back home to Baltimare once the restraining order on you was signed.”

“... Hm. Teacher?”

“If I could go back and be a teacher, I’d-- ... well, I don’t know if I’d be any happier there than I am now. I know for certain if I did, I would have never met Crescent. I wouldn’t have had to endure the biggest embarrassment life could offer me. ... But, I also wouldn’t have met Celestia. And if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have ever met you...”

He squeezes her just a little tighter, both acknowledging her and giving her the air to continue.

“There’s a lot of uncertainties with that one, so... I also like to think of more recent things. And the one that always comes to mind is... adopting Furi and leaving Canterlot forever...” Her already tired eyes close a little more as her muse picks up. “... It’s funny. When I thought about this idea, I was silently hoping that you would show up at my Baltimare home and find me there. That you would live with me anyway – both of us away from the unsavory guises of the Consortium. No more prying eyes, no more Magnifying Glass, no more face-to-face reporting...”

“... You really thought of that?”

She nods again. “That’s why I think it’s so funny... because... in a weird way, I was right. I got what I wanted. You’ve... come back. Here, to my home... where we first met. Even after everything, a part of me wishes I could go back. I knew I should have done it... but... my fear of disappointing Magnifying Glass was too much... and it was all worthless anyway. I should have taken the incident in the orphanage as a hint to jump off the ship...”

“Incident in the orphanage?”

“Mm. Furi, she... I’m not sure what caused it, but she and the matron had a very... ‘big’ disagreement on something she didn’t want to talk to me about. Me, Magnifying, and her were all planning on attending the Royal Games, and two nights prior when I went to visit her, she was in detention. The matron was very short with me and didn’t let me see her. It wasn’t until I showed her the ticket I bought her for the Games that she caved in and allowed me to take her just for it. I had to return her directly after.”

“... Wonder what could have caused it. Furi is a wonderful little thing.”

“... Maybe the weight of what happened to her parents is finally setting in.”

Crimson squints at the ceiling. “... Yeah. Think you’re right. ... Poor girl.” He tries to warm up the emotionally cold and biting room with a soft squeeze on her hindleg while saying, “well maybe now we can scrape you up some time so you can adopt Furi. She’s still in the Canterlot orphanage right?”

“... She... is.”

Noting her meek, distant tone, he returns to the somber blues of her very obvious sadness. “... What’s wrong, girly?”

“... I can’t adopt her anymore...”

“What? Why? You two are perfect together.”

“Because. My head is... no good.” Crimson’s mouth sours horribly. “I don’t think I’m mentally fit to take care of a little one anymore, Crimson. The moment I realized that, it was the same moment I made my first incision in my leg. Imagine if you hadn’t shown up tonight like you did? I don’t think my corpse would do a very good job at being a mom...”

His teeth grit fiercely. There are a million things he would want to say, but he knows none of them would matter now. Instead, he responds by asking, “... she gonna stay at the orphanage then?”

“I hope not. I hope... somepony adopts her. And gives her a loving home. Because otherwise...”

“... I’m sorry, Moonlight.”

“... It’s okay.” She nestles closer, as if trying to become one with him. “... At least... now it is.” She finalizes her words with a squeeze of her own around his arm.

Nothing so bittersweet has ever washed over his spirit. He cannot find any more words to say. No words that would add to the conversation, at least. It would all be pointless nothings, just like all of his regrets and self-loathing.

He comes across as extremely fascinated with the ceiling above him, since it is the only thing his eyes lock onto while he swims through his own mind. And this persists for a length of time he cannot begin to count.

Soon, audible breathing starts from the mare that holds him. He turns his head discretely and shifts his eyes her way, only to witness her already fallen into deep sleep. She really was tired, he supposes. Not that it was unobvious from the deep, disheartening dark circles that have painted the bottom of her eyelids. They have gotten so bad, they remind him of his own...

… and they also remind him of Dahlia’s. Another one of his kind, a being who can never live a single minute without dark circles discoloring her lower eyelids. But he knows that Dahlia’s are not from lack of sleep or depression. Hers are purely from stress, and he is positive that stress is exactly what she is going through now because of his idiocy. He does not regret saving Moonlight, hell, he would punch Magnifying’s brains out to save her again if he could, but he knows the toll it is causing Dahlia.

…

And like lightning, he is stricken by a very real dilemma, which he barely now realizes he finds himself in. A sandwich of emotions that he is not sure what to do with. He is no stranger to having more than one person beckoning his attention at once. Multiple people being attracted to him is a non-issue in his opinion, as it is easy to pull forward and push away the people he wants in his life. But in this circumstance, he finds that more than one interest is pulling him in. Surely this cannot be normal or natural.

…

He scolds himself for being distracted with these thoughts when they should be at the back of his mind. First and foremost, he needs to find Dahlia. He will find her. And he will make sure she is safe. Maybe, just maybe, bring her here. Have her meet Moonlight. Maybe put this dilemma to rest before something irreversible happens.

He hopes the two of them get along. They were not very fond of each other through only surface-level reference. In the possibility that their personalities clash too hard, they may not want to physically be around each other. That is something he is now beginning to really fear. His two favorite gals hating each other’s guts and causing a separation…

He tries not to think of that right now. What he needs to focus on is where he is going first to try and look for her. There are a few spots he knows to check, he just hopes it is one of them. Equestria is a massive place.

He could maybe use a transponder to teleport into the bunker in Canterlot Castle, but… that would not work. Each time they have used the transponders to go to a different location, the dials needed to be adjusted according to where they were going. He feels stupid for not paying attention to what the combinations were, but then again, he does not understand the language they are written in. Any set of numbers would not translate visually to him.

He stands firm on the idea of simply flying around Equestria to look for her. From what he has seen, and from what he opines, he is much faster than any run-of-the-mill pegasi. The pegasi in the Elite could probably smoke him, and Dahlia for sure could. But any other fool looking to tail him would likely have a difficult time unless they were as seasoned as the aforementioned competition.

Yeah, that is exactly what he will do. He will spend all afternoon and evening looking for her. And if he does not, he will try again the next day. And if he does not, he will try again the next day… until he finds her. Or something stops him.

Horis… the very thought of him somewhat frightens him.

He lifts his right arm, that which is no longer mangled and is completely healthy. He finds it quaint that Lillian did this. Again, the weight which caused him to cry earlier returns... but Moonlight’s tender embrace keeps the tears at bay.

No matter. He will not waste precious rest stressing over Lillian, Horis, or anything else. Tonight, he will sleep so that he may properly face those toils. He will sleep with Moonlight’s embrace, that which does perfectly to ease him and usher him to a relatively peaceful slumber.

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