“This way,” the armored guard says to Spike, though any directions seem wholly unnecessary: their destination dominates the center of the Crystal Empire, towering high above every other building. The castle is as impossible to miss as Canterlot jutting off the Canterhorn, a gleaming beacon standing testament to the power and might of the ponies.

Or, perhaps, the guard is merely guiding Spike through the throngs of crystal ponies. Fruit vendors, peddlers of wool garments, the porters hauling goods from the train: each pauses whatever it is they are doing to stop and stare or point excitedly. It culminates to an assault on every sense, with brilliant colors of soft fabrics, tantalizing smells wafting by that make mouths water, and the blaring of flugelhorns against the undercurrent of whispers.

At first Spike meekly waves back, certainly unused to the attention and a bit self-conscious. And yet it isn’t just that. He feels, if he stopped and made the connection, like a changeling would when they first step hoof into a pony town: overwhelmed as the entire city screams its opulence. From the train station on the edge of the city to the central castle, each angular and crystal-crafted building a delectable treat, as delicious as any gem-topped pastry from Sugarcube Corner. Just begging to be tasted, sampled, devoured. Even the ponies don’t escape his capricious gaze, claws furling and unfurling as he imagines running his tongue along them.

It wasn’t like this when he was here before, or even on the ride over. But now that he is in their midst, surrounded by hundreds if not thousands of shimmering sights? If the mere sight was it, perhaps that alone would not be enough of a claim to trigger his draconic avarice. But now he is their Emperor, and he desperately wants the other nine-tenths of his claim solidified. He sets his sights on the closest, a market stand surrounded by berries.

“Would you like a piece?” the fruit vendor asks as Spike flies over, torn between hesitation and supplication. She sweeps her hoof over baskets of red, blue and purple crystal berries, a number of simple tarts made from the same, and jam-covered slices of flat bread.

“Wait,” Spike commands the guard, who does so. He growls to the vendor, “Just one?” A short jet of smoke curls away from his nostrils. How could he choose just one?! They all look delicious, and the accommodations on the train weren’t exactly up to Ponyville’s standards, as a rumble from his belly reminds him.

“N-no!” the mare desperately begs, dropping her head to the ground in a low bow. “Not like that! His Majesty can have as many as he desires!”

“Better,” Spike remarks as he selects a clawful of berries and a purple pastry. “How much?”

She chokes back a sob, and if she could bow any lower she would. “No charge, your Majesty!”

“Really?” Spike stops, halfway to reaching inside his suitcase for his bag of bits, though he realizes that they might not take the Equestrian currency here. He’ll have to ask about that at some time. He glances down at the berries, torn between accepting the ‘generosity’ and suspicious of why such a perk exists. What would Rarity do?

“O-of course,” she stammers. “It’s as his Majesty deserves.”

Spike frowns, uncomfortable with the pleading. “Come to the castle,” he says quietly. Now that he thinks about it, Princess Celestia probably pays for whatever she gets, though he’s never seen her directly spend the bits. “We’ll work something out.”

She whimpers. “Yes, your Majesty,”

Spike looks around. The other ponies have gone silent, watching him with leery eyes. It makes him uncomfortable, especially being shorter than them, so he takes flight to hover just above their heads. He bites into the pastry, finding it just as delicious as he imagined it would be. Little rivulets of juice stream from one corner as he jostles between chewing and drooling. He raises a claw to wipe it off, stopping halfway; it would be unbecoming of an Emperor to do something so, as Rarity might put it, unbecoming. He spots a merchant with a couple cloths that might be suitable as hoofkerchiefs (clawkerchiefs?), and flies over.

The merchant’s back stiffens as he approaches, her nod of acknowledgement long and leaving her eyes downcast. “What can I offer you, m’lord?”

Spike hums to himself as he considers, absently chomping down the rest of the berries. “Is this all you have?”

“I-is nothing up to his Majesty’s standards?” The mare gulps nervously. “It’s, just, with the ‘Shift’, it’s taken far too long to get our production going again.”

“Really?” Spike scratches at his chin. “Why?”

“Um,” the mare stalls, glancing at the others for support. “W-well, our memories of before King Sombra took over…” She takes a deep breath, dreading giving the bad news. “T-they’re spotty at best. Some of us are able to recall our prior professions, but others are completely lost. Our written records are worse.”

Spike looks around. The other ponies are nodding, many reluctantly.

“We’ve been burning through our stores,” the mare admits. “We’re grateful for any assistance Equestria has given us, and the changelings have a certain… drive to expand beyond our borders.” She motions to a pack of changelings: six bright green adults shepherd eighteen motley youngsters, barely more than grubs, toward the train. “It’s helped motivate us. But we’ve barely gotten the houses sorted out, much less the fields!”

“The fields?” Spike frowns, flying a touch higher to get a better vantage point. He can see rolling fields of grass in every direction, nothing out of the ordinary.

The mare nods, slowly getting more confident. “Yes. There are fields of polar grass. What happened to the crystal berry bushes, the fruit trees, the fields of crystal corn? We can’t survive, much less thrive, on shrub grass!”

“Huh,” Spike grunts, the enormity of the problem quickly dawning on him. No wonder nopony wanted the job! How is he possibly supposed to sort through not only figuring out what everypony is supposed to do and where they are supposed to stay while keeping enough love to power the Crystal Heart? The train is looking mighty compelling, an easy escape from all these problems...

“But whatever you need,” the mare continues as she and many of the others lower their heads subserviently. “We are happy to provide. Whatever we can.”

Spike slowly rotates, gulping as he looks at each member of the crowd. Their expectations, their hope in him, is crushing; how can be the pony that they need him to be? Somepony to take into account each of their struggles, the trauma they’ve been through, and somehow come up with a solution perfect for all?

Then his gaze strays to the Crystal Castle. And at the base, visible from the train station on the edge of the city, the gargantuan statue of when he transformed in order to defend the ponies. He feels so small and insignificant, especially compared to that statue, burdened with a responsibility he has no chance of bearing. Why did he ever want this? Why did he want to break free from Twilight, his life of ease and plenty, to struggle and fail out in the miserable cold?

What kind of pony would he be if he abandoned the crystal ponies now, in their hour of need?

No. Not a pony. A dragon.

He could be exactly what they need! Dragons didn’t get all mopey about the hardships they’ve been through. They have tough scales built to weather any storm, studded with gems and tempered with flame! Yes, they can be mean and nasty, but that’s precisely the sort of attitude that will get them through this!

He was born for this!

And, besides; what the empire gives, that is what the emperor shall consume. If the people graciously donate their time and resources? He would be worse than a foal to deny them.

A change comes over Spike, immediately noticed by the crowd. He lands, his shoulders squared back, his chest as broad as he can make it, and commands with brutal efficiency. “Thank you, miss?”

“Jade,” she replies.

Spike takes the closest cloth, staining the white with the red of the berries. “Thank you, Jade.” He turns to the others. “First order of business, then. I want a complete list of every residence and business in the Empire. Preferably with notes on who remembers what, specifically. Second.”

“Um,” the guard interrupts, drawing a fierce glare from Spike. The other ponies mill about nervously, unsure of how they should react. “Do you want this carried out now? Or would his Majesty prefer to issue his decrees from the castle?”

“Hmm,” Spike considers. “They would be carried out more efficiently from there. Very well. Can you walk and write at the same time?”

“Err,” the guard says, shaking his head subconsciously. “I will do my best.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” Spike chuckles to himself, remembering how illegible Twilight’s writing is when she is distracted by walking, and that’s with a horn! He pulls parchment and a quill from his suitcase, which the guard dutifully loads onto his back as Spike takes to the air. He dictates to himself as he writes, “Second. A list of all the ponies, and what they can remember about their professions.” He pauses, the crowd parting as they pass. “Do they remember their relationships?”

“For the most part,” the guard answers with a shade of reluctance.

“For the most part?” Spike echoes, perturbed by the evasion. “What does that mean?”

The guard takes a deep breath. “Any foals who cannot remember or find their parents, or not otherwise claimed, are staying at the orphanage.”

“Why,” Spike starts before the realization hits him, burning at his mouth like acid. “Sombra.” He tries to take deep breaths, the anger building inside him. He can barely pay attention as the guard leads him through a cursory tour of the castle. Every floor, and there are dozens of floors, is full of bedrooms, kitchens, bathrooms, studies; practically entire mansions stacked on top of each other.

He finally arrives at the throne room, close to the very top of the castle. What must be the entire support staff is lined up, with a dozen black-and-white clad maids, chefs with their fancy hats, an announcer with a flugelhorn, and what he hopes is a stenographer.

“What is this?” Spike demands, bluntly waving a claw.

“Inspection,” the lead maid replies, an older mare with strict features and a tighter bun. A few of the younger mares in the back do their best to control their shaking, a fierce glance from the lead maid getting them to stand straight.

“That’s a thing?” Spike asks, shaking his head. “Well, not any longer. Besides, do we even need this many?”

A worried look crosses the lead maid’s face. “As you can surely tell, your Majesty, it is a massive castle-”

“Yes. Massive. And, at the moment, unnecessary.” Spike pulls out the notes he made on the way up on the demographics of the Empire. “I must know precisely where I stand, or else this entire endeavor is in dire jeopardy.” He points at the lead maid. “Your name?”

“Golden Wheat,” she answers.

“Golden Wheat.” Spike glances at her cutie mark, a grain of wheat. Several of the other maids share the cutie mark, and he briefly wonders why they are here and not out in the fields. “Organize the others. I am preparing a questionnaire for everypony. We will need copies made and distributed.”

“And the castle?” she asks bluntly. While there is disappointment she is not doing her assigned and likely preferred role, there is a growing sense of confidence, that at least they are doing something instead of waiting around.

“We shall sweep the trappings of past emperors aside,” Spike commands. “And make this empire anew. We shall focus our efforts on where they are necessary, and on the necrotic flesh that must be cauterized and purged.”

“But-” Golden Wheat starts, only for Spike to cut her off.

“There is no cooling respite from the searing attentions of greatness,” Spike states regally. “And precious gems are forged by heat and pressure. Do you wish the Crystal Empire to shine boldly, or do you wish for all to be lost when the night falls?”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Golden Wheat answers, kneeling. The others behind her do the same.

Spike smiles to himself, and at the scratch of the stenographer’s quill. “Good, my faithful subjects. I shall see you again in due time. Remember, the most troubling situations can be the most rewarding.”

Spike flies off to the royal bedchambers, leaving the others to contemplate his words. It is only once he is alone that he acknowledges the searing pain in his wings, the pounding of his heart, and the shaking of his claws. He walks to the balcony, staring out over his empire.

How is he possibly going to figure this all out?

Next Chapter: Ch. 67 - Frozen Trail, Part Two Estimated time remaining: 21 Hours, 19 Minutes