Arin’s dreams were more fitful than he liked – the train crash repeating itself indefinitely in his head, images of the explosion from Alma Sol blending in to the memory while his body was torn from the peace of the carriage and into the cold night. As the train tilted a third time and his body was thrown like a ragdoll – he found himself landing smoothly on his feet.

Luna stood before him, covered in several dozen bandages. She had tears running down her eyes, jumping into his chest in a powerful hug.

“Arin!” She yelled, and just like that, the dream faded.

The train tilted a fourth time, his body being flung from the carriage… again and again, crashing into the tree, laying limp on the snowy ground. He could see the Ascended before him, the knife in hand. Luna would appear, and break the nightmare – only for it reset. He would be home, in Milla Serine. Watching the sky as a beam of light rained down, shattering the Corona of the World in a crimson blaze.

He blinked his eyes awake, his muscles stiff and in a cool sweat. To his right, Umbra slept soundly on top of the sheets – a small fireplace cracking quietly to fill the quiet room with warmth.

It had been four days since the attack. At least, from what Umbra told him. There were no windows to the outside he could see – but he felt the sun overhead, in some way. It must be noon.

He stirred, lifting his head from the pillows – before falling down with a pained groan. Umbra jerked from her slumber, her eyes falling on the injured Seraph.

“You are awake. You did not sleep well.” She said. “Do you require anything, Arin?”

He blinked at the question, “Water, please. Thank you.” He said, voice hoarse. Without another word, Umbra left the room. Returning minutes later with a large glass. It was roughly crafted, made of cedar – but it worked. She tipped the water to his lips, lifting his left hand up from under the sheets.

He winced, seeing bandages across the surface. He has spent the majority of his time unconscious, or struggling to keep himself alive, as the multitude of gashes, cuts, scrapes, and bones could heal.

“The skin was degloved from your claws. I knit the flesh as well as to be expected.” She said calmly, “Do not try to grasp anything. You will undo my work.”

Umbra hadn’t necessarily told him the full extent of his injuries; perhaps not to overwhelm him. It’s not like each one was a bomb set to explode, but learning of new wounds each day wasn’t pleasant either. But he was thankful for the consideration.

He gave a tiny nod, resting his palm over the sheets. Degloved. He knew that word. The skin of his hand was ripped clean off. He vaguely remembered his wrist slamming into the torn steel of the train’s roof, as he tumbled through the air. He wandered what else was injured, worry seeping into his bones.

“What happened to the train? Did anyone else survive?” He asked. It’s not that the question hadn’t come up – he had barely any time awake. In fact, he’s only been conscious a few scant hours the last few days. Most of his questions were directed towards her, her history, and for requests of water or food – or aid to use the bathroom. She had no shame, much to his ire.

But with his body healing, it was time for answers to questions he had put aside.

She thought calmly for a moment, nodding. “Yes. The Royalty survived – all of them. A few civilian lives were at risk. Those toward the front of the train most likely perished.”

The Seraph winced at the thought of the loss of life. There was nothing any of them could do – but it his mind was torn between so many stray thoughts, the headache he’d been stifling (from his concussion) had managed to make a guest appearance.

“What exactly happened?”

Umbra set the water down on the nearby desk, speaking calmly.

“I had followed the trail of three Seraphs north east, towards my Kingdom. Their strange magic and nature drew my attention. I kept my distance, using my magic to move silently through the blizzard.”

It made sense now. She wasn’t planning on attacking the train. She was following the Seraphs, who must have strayed into her domain and caught her eye.

“When I saw the explosion, I realized that I would swiftly come to blame for their actions. I disposed of them – all three of them – and came across your broken body. I am left at a loss; the attack on the train would lead to a witch hunt on my last fortress. I decided to take you in, so that I might exchange your life to spare my last home. It’s reasonable to assume that my enemies hold me in contempt with their actions.”

“And do you think they’ll really just let you go?” Arin asked, “If anything, they might see me as a co-conspirator.”

“I know they will let me go. I may covet the Crystal Empire, but I pose no threat. Not at this moment. I am too weak to make an attempt for my rightful Kingdom. And they will not assume you a traitor. They made sure of that.”

She turned to the door, stepping confidently into the main room. She returned with Nocturne, placing it at his side.

“This is Nocturne. The blade of the Night Princess, Luna. The magic within is potent; you may not betray the blade, or risk losing it. To that, you swore an oath as a knight.”

He examined the blade again, the sapphire in the rain guard gleaming brilliantly in the firelight. “So… that’s the magic I feel from the sword?”

Umbra nodded. “It is not magic, but a curse. You are bound to your oath. You swore to uphold and protect the Princess of the night. Willingly participating in treachery would shatter the Sapphire within, revealing you to be disloyal.”

She ran her gray hoof over the stone, which swirled with a soft blue light. “This blade can not so much as cut a hair upon Luna’s head, even if she asked it. And neither could you.”

She placed the sword by his side, sitting by the edge of the bed.

“This is why I value you. Your words could sway the Princess.”

“To do what, exactly? Spare your house?”

“No. To come to peace.”

Peace. She wants… peace.

“What do you mean about peace?” He asked, “Do you not want the Crystal Empire anymore? Are you done trying to claim it?”

“I am done trying to take it, that is correct. I have few allies left in this world, and they turn on me by the day. I am…” Her stone expression broke, a sad frown forming on her lips. “I am alone.”

Alone. He felt a pang of sympathy for her – however minor it was, he could tell she was genuine when she said it.

“I am a Queen without subjects. I have seen a thousand years and more without company, without peers – beyond those who feared me, or under me as a slave. All efforts I’ve made before have failed. I am willing to try a new strategy, a tactic to regain my throne.”

So close! She was so close to turning over a new leaf, for a moment he really did think she was going to stop trying to take over Equestria. Regardless, he wanted to know more.

“Well?…”

“Friendship. In the few years of Princess Twilight’s existence, she had accomplished more than I could dream. It is… infuriating, to say the least. That she should ascend to the status of Alicorn from common blood. Perhaps it is time that I learn beyond my roots, so that I may challenge the throne again. On common ground, perhaps.”

“So you want me to talk to the Princesses… to ask them to let you go, so you can make friends… and take over the Crystal Empire.”

“That is correct.” She said with a nod. Arin slowly raised a hand to his face, regretting the pain – but he needed to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“But why? Why bother taking over the Crystal Empire? Don’t you have anything else better to do?” Arin groaned, flopping into the sheets. “You could go on vacation, have a few drinks, enjoy a beach somewhere… instead, you want to do… this. Why.”

It wasn’t even a question anymore, it was a statement.

“Perhaps I am not clear on my history, Arin. I am not a pony.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“I’m literally looking at a pony right now, you’re not gonna convince me-” Umbra’s form melted into shadows, muting the room into total darkness. Arin could only stare in horror as the black engulfed him – choking the breath out of him.

And just like that, the moment passed. Umbra was laying on the bed, her face unchanged. “I am an Umbrum, a living shadow. The form I take is merely an illusion to stand among ponies. My people are trapped beneath the halls of the Crystal Empire, petrified by the curse of the Crystal Heart at its center. To crush it would free my people from their torment, and bring the Umbrum Army back into this world.”

That was a bit much to take in, and he frowned. After having spent several seconds recovering from the horror. “And… how do you know that?”

Umbra sighed. She might as well be specific. “When I was little, I found my Mother – the Crimson Stone – in the frozen wastes of the Crystal Empire-”

“Back up more. Hold on, you found your Mom, and she was a stone?” Arin was catching on, but that was a bit… much. Farfetched, even. “Go back earlier. What is your first memory?”

Umbra glared at her guest. It was a look of disdain, anger, a mixture of pain and confusion that welled up for a moment – but she finally breathed in, settling. “That is simple enough to explain. I…”

A moment of hesitation caught her, as the memories unfolded.

“I…” She paused, her face cracking. “I… I was lost, in the frozen wastes. I was young, barely more than a foal. The Crystal Guards found me, and brought me to… Chestnut Falls Orphanage. Where I studied, and learned how to read, and spell…”

“Okay. Did your horn always look like that?” He was fed up with the whole dark and brooding aspect of Umbra already. Today, he was going to be a blunt ass. Or something along those lines. Probably more like “dead” and “in a coffin”, but worth a shot.

“What? No, of course not. Not until… not until I met my mother.”

“You say she’s your mother. Hold on, Umbra. You can’t be serious. Don’t take my words for insults, but have you ever considered that maybe – just maybe – talking stones in the wilderness don’t have your best interest in heart?”

“I…” Her eyes were wide now, as Arin went on the offensive.

“What about your eyes. Were they also blood red too?”

“No…”

Arin’s thoughts went wild as he caught a break, and a new plan began to form. He hit a bunch of nerves and weak spots, and he meant to drive this home.

“Okay… so let me get this straight. You were a lost little foal out in the cold, the Guards brought you to an orphanage when they couldn’t find your parents – you learned how to read, write, what else?”

“Speak. They fed me, my friend… I had a friend. Radiant Hope. She was kind to me.” Her words were becoming broken, her hooves slipping up to her head in pain. A low growl emanated from her throat, feral in nature.

“So you were growing up in an orphanage, that taught you how to read, write, speak, anything else to note?”

Umbra shuddered, her skull throbbing in pain. “Headaches… the Crystal Faire… when the Crystal Faire would come, my head…”

She pulled away from the bed, galloping out of the room without another word. Arin might have touched a nerve, he thought, as the door slammed shut behind her. Or many nerves. Probably all of them. He wondered which knife was the sharpest in her kitchen, or if it didn’t matter – he was probably going to get the horn for basically attacking her in a weak moment.

For the better part of an hour, things were quiet. The crackle of the fire, the warmth of the bed. This gave him plenty of time to think, to plan out his next move. Every scenario of the possible conversations he’d have with his captor came to mind. He practiced his approach, and he knew what he wanted. Now, all he could do was wait. He almost began to doze, as the door slid open once more. A more collected Umbra re-entering. She didn’t take her place on the bed, instead opting to sit at the end. Staring up into Arin’s eyes coldly.

“Feeling better?” He asked with a half hearted smile. She shook her head.

“No. But I feel more collected to speak. Our life began at the outskirts of the frozen wastes, where the Crystal Guards brought me to Chestnut Falls Orphanage. I was raised there. Every year, the Crystal Faire would come – and give me terrible headaches that rocked me to my core. If it weren’t for my friend, Radiant Hope, I might have died. Escaping the pain one year, I found the Crimson Stone in the chilly cold of the wilds. It called to me, and told me that I was not a pony at all – but an Umbrum. Her magic – my mother’s magic, touched me, and reawakened my powers within.”

He could have guessed that, from the pieces of the story she gave. And it lined up perfectly with his next assault.

“Alright, hold on. You say your ‘mother’ reawakened your powers. Correct? My question is – if you are an Umbrum like you said, why would you enter the world in a pony form? As a foal? Lost in the wilds?”

Again, Umbra was struck by the blunt question. This was Arin’s chance, strike when the iron is hot. Or convince her to murder you faster. Either works. And with a practiced story in mind, he countered her history with an alternative.

“You were a normal pony before this all began. Here’s what really happened. You were little. Your parents were traveling the wastes, when they had an accident – they perished, and you cracked your head, wiping your memory. The guards found you, took you to the orphanage, and you started having headaches from some kind of Faire. Why? Because your parents probably died on the way to the Faire, because of a bad encounter with the Crimson Stone prior. It wipes your memory, but you escape – and it places a seed of corruption inside of you.”

Arin stopped his spiel as Umbra listened, dumbstruck. Wait, dumbstruck? Hold on, was she actually believing this wild theory? There’s no way-

“But… my powers…”

She’s totally buying it, in some way. Arin pushed on, drilling the point home.

“That stone couldn’t expect a small pony to get past all the guards and smash it, right? It was trying to free its army to take over the world. Once you smash that Heart, the army breaks loose – and they kill you. World conquest completed, at the cost of one pony’s effort. So of course it would give you powers. You were an easy target.”

Umbra stared at the floor. This was the first time anyone in her life had questioned her history beyond a simple “you’re evil and I will defeat you”. Ponies who made the “I will defeat you” statement tend to have very short lives.

She took Nocturne, withdrawing it from its sheath, and pointed it at Arin’s throat.

“You… you’re wrong. You’re lying!” She said, tears forming in her eyes. “You… I am an Umbrum! This is my legacy! I am to be Queen! I am of pure shadow, a piece of the abyss! I am not a wretched mortal! My parents… I don’t have pony parents! Liar!”

Arin was left with two options. Smug comeback, or deescalating humble acceptance.

Arin tilted his head up smugly, hiding the pain of his shattered shoulder. He felt like a cat being scolded. “Did an entire army elect you to be their Queen? And like you said – lies are for the guilty. I do not feel guilty.”

Arin felt like he just admitted that the Winter’s Veil Gift Giver isn’t real to a child. A child in charge of a dozen guards, behind the controls of a ballista aimed at his head.

The blade shook in her magical aura, staring down Arin. Tears were trailing down her cheeks. She could take his head off now, burn the last bit of her life to the ground and move on. End his miserable existence with his own blade – here in her bed. Why did she want to believe this so badly? Why did she want to think that this was all one big mistake?

“Well? Kill me. If you were truly an Umbrum, you would have rushed that blade through my chest. You wouldn’t care about having a home, or memories.”

Okay Arin, that’s a little too far, even for you. This is how you get yourself killed.

Umbra’s piercing glare wavered; The dark, sinister voice that guided her screamed at her to do it. Every fiber of her being wanted nothing more than to plunge that blade into his bare chest, and cut his skull in two.

But the tiny piece of her, deep inside – the one piece of her she buried so long ago under all the layers of hate, of pain, and anger – the tiny bit of her humanity that urged her to change, pleaded desperately to stop. To listen to it.

She reared the blade back, and slammed it forward – deep into the stone, an inch past Arin’s head. He cracked his eyes open as the ring of the weapon stopped, looking at the tang vibrating next to his ear.

She marched out of the room, slamming the door to the bedroom shut. The front door followed – leaving him alone in bed. He was pretty sure that there were hinges on his door before their conversation.

Twilight Sparkle talked about Discord – how they were able to reform him, to turn him to the light. Fluttershy even managed to make him her friend – a literal God of Chaos, and they did it in an afternoon.

He wished he could say he did it just as quick, if he did it at all. But the hours moved on, and he steadily fell back asleep. When he awoke, the fire had went out. Only the dim glow of embers filled the room. He moved his ankle, feeling the pain shoot up his side – but he felt comfortable enough to stand with it.

Gingerly, he slung himself to the side of the bed, testing the weight on his leg. It held solid, though he doubted he would have the strength in his arms to catch himself if he fell. Shuffle, a sling, and a step – he made it to the door, his right arm reaching for the handle.

Problem: His right arm was still in a splint, and still healing. Last time he had a broken arm, he had a doctor advance the healing process dramatically. Now he didn’t have that – it would be a solid week with his fast natural healing until he was fit to work a quill, and a couple more days until he could actually use it for something more serious. At least Umbra’s work set it well.

He gingerly used his left hand, wincing at the fresh flesh tugged at their bindings. Free of Umbra’s room, he stumbled back into the ‘grand hall’ of the little underground fort. The fire in this little kiln was made of sterner stuff, and still sparked brilliantly, filling the room with light and warmth.

He stumbled towards the kitchen door, stomach growling. But something caught his sight, on the wall. A faded picture, of two little fillies smiling happily together. In black and white, taken long, long ago.

He lifted the small picture from the hook, looking it over. All he saw was a gray unicorn filly on the right, and a… colored filly on the left; he couldn’t tell from the lack of hues, but he had a feeling that this was a special pony to Umbra.

The door behind him cracked open, Arin turning to meet the tired eyes of the Queen. She stopped when she saw Arin standing, gawking.

“You are injured. You shouldn’t be able to stand.” She scowled, seeing the picture in his hand. Her magic snapped it out of his grip, setting it down. “Back to bed. Now.”

She puffed her chest and commanded, turning her lips into a sneer. Arin refused.

“No.”

“Do not disobey me. I-”

“You will do nothing, not because you can not harm me for your own sake – but because you know I’m right. There is good in you, Umbra.”

“You will not start this again.” Her magic snapped, a magical band darting around his mouth with such ferocity that it knocked him off his feet. Unable to use his arms, he crashed into the stone fireplace with a meaty thud – a lurching scream following as he writhed his broken shoulder away from the jagged stone.

Umbra hesitated, standing over the injured Seraph. The picture he was holding fell from the nearby desk – shattering on the ground, breaking her from her trance. Arin couldn’t speak, the tight binding locking his mouth shut as she picked up the picture in her magic.

With a hoof, she dusted away the glass shards, looking into the pony’s eyes. The pony she once was. Her irises flashed green, and the shadows within her recoiled at the sight.

She returned the picture to the counter, picking up her flailing guest in her Magic. Quietly, she brought him back to her room – tossing logs to the fireplace as the Queen tucked him in once again.

Breathing deep, she nodded to herself, leaving him to suffer on the bed for several long minutes. She reappeared with another bowl of stew – and a napkin, which she dabbled softly over Arin’s cheeks, clearing away the tears.

“I’m sorry.” She said, without thinking to speak. “I did not mean to harm you. Your story is entirely false, but… I do question it, now.”

His breath came ragged, letting the pain settle again – suppressing it back into place. “It’s alright. I forgive you.”

“But I harmed you.” She said, lowering the bowl. “I struck with fury. You do not resent me?”

“You apologized. It hurt, yes, but I’ve had worse.” She slid the spoon into his mouth, sighing.

“You are strange. The others I have harmed swore death on me. The ones I have killed spat in my face, and wished nothing but my demise. But I toss you carelessly into the wall, and you forgive me. Why?” She held the next spoonful hostage, awaiting answers.

“Because that’s what a friend would do. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to lash out.” He said calmly.

“Friend… Arin, you consider me your friend? After all I have done? The ponies I have slain, the disaster I have wrought – you call me friend? What have I done to be your friend?” She set the bowl down, staring now.

“Well, you wanted to change. You may not understand, but I believe there is good in you, deep down. You would have killed me if you were a true Umbrum. You wouldn’t have stayed the blade. You’re still a pony, deep down. I know it. And… well, saving my life counts, too, I guess. Sure, my little story was made up, tossed together at a moment’s notice. But it made you reconsider what you are, at the very least, and what you could be.”

Arin, you absolute mad man. You have no idea what you’re talking about. He thought. You’re just being suicidal.

She picked the bowl up into her magic, feeding him another spoonful.

“You… are right. I…” She began, setting the bowl aside. “Your words remind me of my friend, Radiant Hope. She believed in me. She thought that I am more than just a monster… I… but it is my destiny. To free the Umbrum. I can not control it. Whether I’m Umbrum or not, I can not change my nature.”

“Destiny is the word people use when they have no choice. It was my destiny to be born, as I had no say in the matter. But you… you control your own actions. You can choose what happens next. You can let the Umbrum control you, or you can start thinking for yourself.”

For a moment, she quietly fed him stew. She didn’t speak, only think.

“You speak with no care for your being. I am a powerful entity, over a thousand years old, with magic and abilities beyond your capabilities to even comprehend. Yet you do not falter. It is admirable, but foolish to believe you can change me. I can not renounce what I am, as much as you pester and push for it.”

“I’m not changing you. Change must come from within. You want to be different, and you’re fighting whatever hold those Umbrum have on you to enact it.” He thought back to the picture in the main hall, the dozens of photos and memories lining the walls. “I can see that everything here holds value to you. Every picture, every book and memoir – it’s all something you hold on to. I don’t know what an Umbrum is, but I feel it cares little for memories of the past, especially fond ones from before your corruption.”

The spoon stopped, the bowl setting on the bed. “You use my past as evidence against me. You claim that I am not a true Umbrum, that I do not hold rightful Ownership to my royal line. It is… disarming.”

“It’s what little I can scavenge from my environment.” His eyes wandered the firelight filled room, thinking back to his conversations with Celestia. Maybe he could turn her with the right words…

“Tell me… when was the last time you were happy?” Arin asked. This might be his last chance to get under her skin, to pull what may be an innocent pony free of the shadows. If his bluff had any truth to begin with.

She frowned. “Explain what you mean by happy.”

“The last time you smiled, legitimately smiled. Not because of your attacks on the Crystal Empire; that would be influenced by your dark side.”

She wrinkled her brow, stirring the bowl quietly with her ruby magic. At least she cleaned the blood off of her horn a few days ago.

“…Chestnut Falls Orphanage. When I spent time with Radiant Hope.”

“The filly from the picture?” Arin asked. She nodded.

“She was… what you would call, a friend. My friend.” Umbra turned the soup over in her spoon, lost in thought. “It was the day before the Crystal Faire. We were… together. Not alone; together as friends could be. She always said that I was weird, but that she liked weird. And that weird was good. She always had faith in me. She even had healing magic, which eased my headaches. Her smile…”

Umbra was grinning now. Her red eyes eased into a soft green. “Her smile was so sweet, like sugarcane. She always helped me. She…”

Her hooves slid up to her head, the shadows welling to block these memories from her mind; to stop this train of thought. Arin watched in abject horror as dark shadows leaked from under her eye lids, vision darkening to reveal her tainted sight. She began to panic, hyperventilate as the memories began to fade.

Arin’s broken hand shot forward, taking her hoof in his grasp. She paused, holding her breath – blinking away the shadows as she sunk back into the moment.

When she looked down at Arin, something had changed. The red had returned, but her expression soothed into a soft frown.

She swiped the bowl of soup with rage off of the bed, letting the wooden bowl splatter against the wall. Standing up, she faced the door.

“…You are right, Arin.” She said. “Umbrum or not, I want to change. And I don’t want to dedicate my life to this shallow pursuit. I want to be happy again. I want to control my destiny. These thoughts… they’ve been there, for a long time now. Years, hundreds of years. They’ve stirred beneath the skin, and with coaxing, they bare on my soul now. If I can try, I will. I’ll take back my will, and be my own… pony. I am… a pony.”