The greatsword cut through the air, coming down hard on a shield. Sparks flew at the impact as Will stood at a half-crouch, holding a shield at chest-level and a blade horizontally by his temple. Jack scowled at his block—she thought for sure she had him there. She stepped back and brought Durendal back into a combat stance; blade up, pommel half a foot from her gut, and her hands wrapped tightly around the wide hilt. Will snarled, clanging his metal shield and blade together several times, then launched himself forward, swiping horizontally; Jack ducked under the blow, only to be punished by a knee moving in a blur and connecting square in her chin. She stumbled back, raising the flat of her sword defensively by her chest in anticipation of the incoming blow.

She was on the bits; Will's strike was deflected; she twisted her body and brought her pommel up from below. Her opponent hopped backwards to dodge the upward strike, giving her a second to breath and all but resetting the match. Jack charged forward, her sword raised behind her shoulder. She brought it down yet again with mountain-shaking strength. Will took the cleaving blow hard on his shield, dropping to a knee and briefly exposing his core. Jack took the chance to end this—she twisted her body completely and brought her blade around, gaining momentum and strength in her pirouette to deliver a killing blow—

—Only to have an intense pain flare through her as her back was turned. She looked down in surprise. Will's blade had punctured through her back and protruded through her stomach. Jack sank down to her knees. Her hands twitched as she reached for the fatal wound, her vision already blurring and dimming as he pulled out his blade.

“Lesson,” he said as Jack's gut burned with agony. Her vision slowly returned and she drew a heavy, hard breath, feeling where she was wounded moments ago. Gone, like all the other fatal injuries she had received against him throughout the day. She glanced up, noting Will's clean blade.

“Come on, lesson,” he repeated.

“Dyin' hurts like hell,” Jack replied, using her sword as support to rise to her feet.

“There's a reason I keep you kids in sparring equipment, rather than having my men just throw on a dueling seal every damn time I want you guys to crack heads.” He briefly sheathed his blade, cracking the bones in his hand. “Something like this not too many people could handle, Apple. Ain't like your gut's the only thing that can get to hurting—especially the first time you fall.”

“Don't remind me,” she replied, rubbing at the welt forming on her forehead. He had got her good that time—stabbed her when she tried to grab his shield. Jack had honestly thought she had died—it took Will a good ten minutes to calm her down enough to start their sparring back up again. “Still don't know how any of this don't kill me.”

Will gave a small shrug, gesturing around the matted gymnasium and at the line of heavy chalk encircling both of them. “The seal my whisperers use has two effects. The first is giving people sparring a sense of dying whenever a fatal blow is landed against them. The more obvious is that it's somehow able to gauge organic and non-organic matter.”

“Meanin'?”

“Non-organic, like, uh, swords, spears—anything not natural. It can make those things pass right through a person, has something to do with vibrating a weapon's molecules.”

Jack quirked a brow. “Ain't got a clue what yer talkin' about.”

Iron Will shrugged. “Hell, Apple. It's magic. You think I know this crap either?”

“Guess not,” she concluded.

“Anyway...” Will shook his head. “Back on track. Lesson.”

“Uh...” she trailed off, blinking. Will put a hand to his face.

“Never. Pirouette,” he tersely stated, pointing a finger at her. “I don't care how much strength you think you need on a blow, or how much momentum. Never turn your back—that's what gets your shit smacked.” He shook his head. “You should have had me there, child. What happened?”

“I dunno,” she concluded with a sigh. “Jus' thought ya might have had some tricks in ya. Thought I mighta needed somethin' more ta finish ya off.”

“A duel isn't like those stories and movies you watch. It's not pretty. It's not flashy. It's effective and precise. Less poetry, more mathematics.”

“I hate math.”

He smirked, stroking his beard. “Same.” He threw his shield over his shoulders and stepped out of the ring. Jack threw her sword's sheath off her back and put her blade up, then tossed it onto her back. She still was having a hard time drawing and undrawing the weapon—it was just so cumbersome due to its length.

Will stopped at one of the double doors leading outside and spoke to someone. He nodded, gesturing inside. Twila stepped in, brushing one of her bangs behind an ear.

“Apple. We've got one more step for your training today.”

“Alright. Hey Twi.” Jack nodded.

“Good—“ The soul-folk stopped, then checked a pocketwatch. “Afternoon. Wow. Day's been quick.”

“Eyup. Been at it since the rooster crow in here trainin' with the big guy.”

“Almost got a hit on me before you showed up,” Will proudly announced. “She remembers her ancestors more with every swing.” He gave a thumbs-up. “Which is why I'm having you learn something big now, Apple.”

The farmer raised her brow, but said nothing. Will pointed at Twila.

“Student of Celestia,” he addressed. “If I were to try and kill you, what sort of spell would you use to stop me?”

She looked him over and instantly replied. “A paralysis spell. One that targets your legs, preferably.”

“Hit me with it.” Will preformed a few small squats, warming up his legs.

The soul-folk gave a small shrug. “Alright.” She made a gesture in the air reminiscent of opening a door, then thrust forward. A aura of lavender magic erupted in the shape of barbed wire and wrapped around Will's thighs, then sunk into his skin. Without any form of struggle, he bent his legs and took a step forward.

“Didn't work!” he announced. “Now what!?”

“I—“

“Lethal force!” the norfolk roared. “How would you kill me?!”

“Will—“

“Say it! Honor your teacher!”

She glared hard at him. “Boil the blood around your brain.”

“Do it!” he shouted, gritting his teeth.

Twila seemed reluctant, then sighed, gesturing towards him and squeezing an imaginary ball. He briefly seized; sweat began rolling down his face in rivulets as he clenched his jaw hard, his face pulled back in an agonizing grimace. With a roar, he took a step forward. Twila's hand dropped and she sunk to her knees, breathing hard.

Will stumbled slightly, falling to a kneel. “Hell'va...” he trailed off, panting and blinking rapidly. Twila said nothing, clutching her temple in a hand.

Will rose first, stepping as if he was disoriented and punch-drunk. “You know Celestia and honored her here.” The norfolk shook his head, clenching his hand as he winced. “That's gonna cost me for a few days.” He boisterously laughed, grabbing Twila's arm and hoisting her up, then pointing at Jack. “That's a small example of the Iron Mind—what I'm known for. A normal man would have been dead in seconds from that, correct, Twila?”

“Y-yes,” she muttered, quietly marveled at the man.

“Experience beats skill, Celestia's protegee. I've fought against Luna enough to where that isn't gonna stop me.” He threw back his head and laughed once more. “But by my ancestors, you know your way around magic!” Will then ran a thumb along his nose. “Apple. One day you're going to surpass even this.”

Jack shook her head. “Ain't sure how. Hell, I ain't even got a clue what muscle you were flexin' there ta stop her.”

“Isn't about muscle. It's about your conviction—your desire to march down the Path.”

“Ronnel?” she dryly asked. Will gave a hard, thin smile.

“Ronnel,” he agreed, heading for the bleachers. He gave a small wave and beckoned the two towards him. “We're giving you the basics for now. First: you gotta know that there are three schools of magic that every spell has roots in.” He counted on his sausage-fingers. “Alteration, Conjuration, and Illusion.”

“Alright...” Jack dubiously trailed off. Will shrugged.

“Hear me out. I'm talking about them because it's important.” He cleared his throat and plopped his colossal body down onto the bench. “Alteration is the most deadly of the schools. Thankfully, once you figure out how to fight against the spells, it's also the easiest to counter thanks to its invasive nature.” The norfolk looked between the two. “Soul-folk have to stay calm and in control if they want their spells to be potent, so, how do we fight against it?” He pointed both his index fingers at Jack. “Make ourselves the opposite! Strong emotions are a bitch to grab—like a pissed off bull on a rope. You follow, Apple?”

“Uh, I think so. Yer sayin' I gotta get mad?” she asked.

“Not just mad, child. Raging.” He gestured with a palm to an unseen object. “I'm talking a full-on Viking berserker rage. Or a widower's grief, or the glee of a child—that one's the scariest to see in combat. One of our warriors snapped during a hunt for a rogue whisperer. It's thanks to him that I learned how intense emotions can negate magic.” Will scratched at his beard. “But I'm getting distracted here. We're going to get you to negate magic before we leave this room, Apple.”

“She ain't gonna boil my blood or nothin', right?” the farmer nervously asked.

Will threw back his head and laughed. “Of course not. She's gonna turn you into stone.”

Twila made a square with her hands, then clapped them together and gestured towards Jack's arm. Instantly, the earth-folk's appendage became obscenely heavy, every second was a struggle to keep it lifted up.

“Fight it, Apple!” Will barked from the sidelines.

Jack grimaced, managing to clench her fist as she struggled against the numbing sensation that started at her fingertips and quickly approached her hand. She noted with alarm that the coloration of her hand was being sapped, replaced with a gray tone that crawled up her arm like a spider with purpose. There was a hard pop as her hand froze in place—she attempted to flex, yet couldn't even move her hand in the slightest.

Focus. Come on, girl. She grit her teeth as her gray skin hardened, turning her calloused, near-leather hands even harder; soon she wouldn't have any feeling at all. Her panic increased when her other arm become flooded with weight too. It sank to the side as she started taking shallow, panicked breaths.

“You can do it!” the norfolk shouted. “Feed the fire!”

Jack threw all her strength into flexing her arms—her left functioned, albeit barely, but her right was quite clearly stone by now, rising all the way to her elbow.

“Twi, stop!” the farmer shouted, pleading toward's her friend. The soul-folk paused, glancing at Will.

“Keep going,” he instructed with disinterest as he crossed a leg onto a knee. “It's sink or swim now. Up to her to follow Ronnel.”

Heat flared in Jack's eyes. “Ta hell with yer Ronnel!” Jack shouted as one arm became coated in stone, and the other well on its way. She collapsed to her knees when her feet were too heavy from the alteration spell's influence on her.

“If you can't even get this right, then I want you out of my sight!” he barked, spitting to the side. “You're worthless! You can't even break out of something as simple as this? You've forgotten your father, Apple.”

“I ain't forgot shit!” she snapped back, weakly rising to a hunch. “Ya think yer some tough guy 'cause you can swing a sword? Ya ain't nothin'.” She met his gaze, feeling a heat in her belly.

“And what are you?” Will calmly replied back. “A woman doing man's work. If you were norfolk, you wouldn't even be here right now. You'd be with child and stuck in a house. I gave you a chance, but it looks like I was right—you'll never be strong enough.” He rose, popping his back as Jack felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. “I'm leaving. Twila can undo the spell after a while.” With that, Will turned and began heading across the gymnasium.

“Don't ya dare walk away from me!” Jack shouted. Will paid her no attention, continuing towards the doors. “Goddamnit Will!”

A powerful surge of heat ached in the pit of her belly. Her hands trembled, her breath came out in short, quick bursts. Her teeth clenched together hard enough to hurt her jaw. Jack's entire body shook in indignation at his words. Without realizing she was doing it, she pressed forward, taking a step that made her stone feet groan and crack in protest. Her steps increased as as she left behind small trails of granite, every chip in her body showing more and more of the skin and clothing underneath the stone cocoon that imprisoned her. Her pace increased to a dead sprint, she clenched a hand that should have been impossible to clench and reared back, throwing a punch up towards the back of his head. He turned easily, the blow connecting square at his nose. Jack paused as the man smiled warmly at her, blood already pouring down his face.

“You did well, Apple,” he said kindly.

“Don't ya 'ya did well' ta me!” she shouted, clenching her fists at her side and stomping a foot. “What's with that shit you were jus' talkin' 'bout ta me?”

“Made you angry?”

“Damn right it made me... oh,” she paused, conflicted. “Were you jus' sayin' that ta get me mad?”

“Worked, didn't it?” he replied, reaching up to his nose. “Just about broke it.”

“I don't like ta be toyed with, Will.”

“And I'm not the biggest fan of pulling strings, but I didn't have much choice. I knew you wouldn't get mad enough at your friend, so I took initiative.” He gave a disinterested wipe at the blood running down his face. “But it's that kind of explosive anger you just had that lets you break out of spells. Well, Alteration and Conjuration, anyway. Illusion's a bit different, but we'll talk about that one some other time. What I want to drive home is this: anytime you're hit by a spell like that, focus on what you felt just a second ago. That surging anger you just had.” He paused, gesturing at his face. “This is the first hit you got on me, isn't it?”

“I guess so,” Jack replied.

“You're getting better every day, Apple.” He clasped her shoulder, beaming down at her with fatherly eyes. “It's an honor having you under my tutelage. You're as strong and as brave as any full-blooded norfolk man I know. Remember your father well over Hearth's Warming.”

“I will.” She nodded.

“And are you gonna take your blade to your homestead?”

“Nope,” Jack quickly said. “Thing'll jus' be in the way of my other luggage.”

“Well, practice your footwork over the break. I don't want you growing soft.”

Soft? He have any idea how much work I'mma have ta do ta catch up 'round the farm? Regardless, Jack nodded. “On it.”

“Good deal.” He cocked his head towards Twila. “You two head on out. I'll clean up.”

“Yer face or the gym?”

“Little bit of both, Apple.”

Rarity wiped at her forehead with a handkerchief, then returned to pacing the train station platform. Jack should be here any minute now, and after that, they'd begin the long ride to the farmer's home, where Rarity would have to meet with Jack's family. She gestured with her hand, bringing forth a magically created mirror, which she used to check over her hair, her makeup, her lack of eyeliner.

The soul-folk almost gasped in surprise. She frantically dug out the eyeliner from her purse and hurriedly applied it, breathing a sigh of relief only when the action was finished.

“How much longer are we gonna be here?” a high-pitched voice whined. Rarity spared a glance behind her, where a young girl stood by the parked train, near a half-dozen suitcases and travel bags.

“Stephanie... sweetie, I'm sure Jack will be here soon. Do try to stop fidgeting. I want to leave her with a good first impression of you.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes, scratching at her pink and light-violet hair. “I know. You've said you—“

“Want you on your best behavior, yes.” Rarity nodded. “She's important to me, sweetie. I want this week to be as smooth as possible for her.” She sternly raised a finger. “So mind your manners. Everything needs to be just so in order to keep up appearances.”

“Is that why you're makin' me wear this dress?” she asked, running a finger over the straps of the frilled, yellow thing.

“Well, that, and I was thinking of expanding my skill set to children's clothing, in addition to my works now.” She gave a haughty smile, facing her sister and beaming. “I mean, why not give children the same ability to be fashionable as adults?”

“Lookin' pretty nice,” Jack agreed from directly behind her. Rarity gave a small, undignified yelp in surprise, whipping around to face the farmer.

“Stop doing that!”

Jack snickered, wiping at her nose. “Couldn't resist.” She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Ya got yer stuff ready?”

“Of course, darling,” she said in a huff, adjusting her hair. “It's over by the train.”

“Which bags?”

“Which bags?” Rarity repeated. “All of them.”

“All of 'em?!” Jack exclaimed. “Ya do realize we're only gonna be at my place 'bout a week, right?”

Rarity laughed behind her hand. “Darling, I needed to take more than a few changes of clothes with me. Why, heavens, if I forgot my shampoo, or my hand-lotion, or my makeup, or—“

“Do ya really need that stuff? Shootfire, ya coulda jus' used some of my shampoo or somethin'.”

“I have very sensitive hair, Jack Apple. I won't let it be sullied by an off-brand conditioner.”

The train whistle blew before Jack could get another word in. She rolled her eyes.

“Alright, fine. Ya win this one. Let's jus' get yer bags.”

“I'll get 'em!” Stephanie proclaimed, hoisting one in either hand, only to trip, landing on the pile next to her and scattering the bags across the concrete. She rose to a sit, giving a nervous smile as Rarity's eye twitched.

“Just take a bag and get inside, sweetie,” Rarity said as evenly as she could, her face a mask. Stephanie nodded, lifting one in her arms and carrying it with both her thin arms in front of her. Jack moved over to a few of the scattered suitcases, hoisted up three in her hand, and balanced them carefully against her chest.

“Ya got the other two bags?” Jack asked, moving towards the train's doors.

“Of course,” Rarity agreed, throwing one over her shoulder and dragging the other behind her on a set of wheels.

They got their bags thrown in the compartment above their seats and situated right as the train whistle blew to signal its departure.

“Hope y'all don't mind long train rides,” Jack said, glancing over at the sisters from across the narrow aisle.

“Nope!” Stephanie giggled, swinging her legs freely in the air. “They're fun!”

“While I wouldn't call them a source of entertainment, I'm quite sure our destination will be worth it.” Rarity gave a small, considerate smile at Jack as she stood. “I need to go freshen up, dear. Allow me a moment.” She walked down the aisle and went through the small doorway to another train carriage. Stephanie stared briefly at Jack, looking surprisingly serious.

“So, you're my sister's girlfriend?”

“Eyup,” Jack replied, crossing her legs and turning to face the girl.

“Why?”

“Why?” Jack repeated.

“I mean... all of Rarity's special somebodies were kind of the same. You're a lot different. They liked clothes and parties and drinking gross stuff like champagne.” Stephanie stuck her tongue out in disgust.

“Well, champagne's jus' somethin' you'll probably like more when yer older.” It wasn't Jack's favorite either, but it was still a decent enough drink. “As fer the first part...” She put a hand to her chin and closed her eyes in thought. “At first glance, we ain't got shi—“ she paused, looking at the kid. “Uh, anythin'. We ain't got anythin' in common. Ya peel us both back a few layers though? We've got a lot of the same ways of lookin' at things.” The farmer smiled towards Stephanie. “But the biggest thing is: I trust her with everythin' I got. She's...” Jack put a finger to her forehead in thought. “I can't describe it. She's jus' really important ta me. An' I like ta think I mean a lot ta her. I want ta make her happy as best I can, ya understand?”

“I think so.” She crossed her arms and nodded.

The door opened again; Rarity stepped through, with Pinkie hot on her heels.

“Well lookie there!” Jack exclaimed. “How you doin', Diane?”

“Fine and dandy like sour candy! I was sitting a cart back and Rarity came to me and she was like 'hi' and I was like 'hi' back and so she told me that you were here as was her sister!” Diane briskly waved at Stephanie, grinning. “How you doing?!” She quickly plopped behind Jack's seat and leaned forward on the farmer's headrest. “You're all heading to the farm?”

“Eyup. Reckon yer doin' the same?”

“Absolutely-positivulity!” She giggled, her poofy pink hair jiggling with every shake of her head. “I bet my family can't wait to have some more of my crumbly, chocolate, cherry-cream cakes!”

“I'm jus' lookin' forward ta Hearth's Warmin' dinner.” Jack patted her stomach. “Turkey, gravy, fried okra, sweet corn, stuffin'...” Her gaze turned far away in reminiscing.

“I presume your family is quite adept at culinary workings then?” Rarity questioned.

“Eyup. Ya sure as sugar won't go starvin' when we get there.” She quirked a brow and gave a small, playful smile. “Heck, ya probably could stand ta gain a few pounds.”

Rarity tilted her nose up. “A lady must keep her body proper. We simply cannot carry excess baggage.”

“Hence the six bags of girly crap in storage?” Jack quickly countered.

“I mean body baggage, thank you very much. And I believe you could stand to lose some. You're getting fat, darling.” Rarity huffed. The smallest twinkle in her eye let Jack know it was an act.

“Fat?” Stephanie asked, tilting her head and missing the obvious joke. “Only thing fat on her is her boobs.”

Rarity's jaw dropped, she stared aghast at her sister as Jack briefly paused. Rarity held up a finger and was ready to berate the girl just as a low chuckle came out from the farmer's mouth, quickly turning to a deep, gut-busting laughter; Jack threw her head back and all but howled in mirth as Pinkie snorted in between giggles, slapping the back of the seat. Rarity let a small smile cross her, then finally broke into a hearty laugh, carefree and lovely.

“Shoot,” Jack said, once she could breathe normally again. She wiped at the corner of an eye. “She's gonna get 'long jus' fine with Bloom, I reckon.”

“I don't get it,” Stephanie muttered to herself. “What'd I say?”

Dmitri propped his feet up onto his desk, leaning back onto two legs in his chair and filing his nails. It had been only a few days since he sat in the chair of his main base of operations in Manhattan, but it had felt like ages regardless. He glanced out the window, smiling as he saw a train go by on the horizon, peeking out through the lined buildings as it made its rounds across the town's outskirts. The smile was cold, calculating. Interested less in the aesthetic of the train breaking the twilight and more about profit margins. This last quarter had been particularly successful—he had expanded the railway to the border of the Griffon kingdoms. Now it was just a matter of stretching his influence farther west, maybe slip a few more bits to grease some palms to get a railway set up through the native's lands. Money was no issue when it came to fulfilling his endgame, after all.

A knock at his door drew his attention. Dmitri quickly tossed his feet off the desk and reached into a drawer, pulling out a box. He lifted the lid and pulled out a cigar, then felt his breast and side pockets, only to discover he misplaced his lighter. With a roll of his eyes and a snap of his fingers, he conjured a small flame at the tips. He nursed his smoke until he got a decent burn going, then dismissed the flame with a simple thought.

“Come in,” he stated, looking towards the door. Mr. Flam entered, shutting the door and putting his hat at chest level.

“Mr. Dorcis,” he addressed with a swallow. “Gilda Harding is here to—“ There was a hard crack at the door and it flew open, revealing Gilda and a raised foot. She stepped inside, her hands clenched at her sides as she marched for the man.

“I don't know who the hell you are, or what you think you got on me, but guess what?” Gilda stood at the front of the desk, glowering at the man. “You don't scare me.”

“My dear Gilda,” he began. “If it was simply a matter of scaring you, then I wouldn't have ordered you to come here.” He blew out smoke, smiling. “Rather. It's simple blackmail for you.”

Gilda shot forward, swiping Dmitri's cigar and dropping it on the floor. She ground it into the carpet with her heel. “Blow it out your ass.”

Dmitri, for his part, did nothing, simply staring at her without a single flinch. He reached into his desk and pulled out a folder, sliding it across the table. “I need you for a job. Assist me with it, and that's all that needs done. Nobody will be the wiser—in fact, I'll even be happy to offer financial compensation. I know you've had to do a few bribes to... keep the peace, Griffon.”

She scowled. “So that's what you were talking about in that letter you sent.”

“What else?” he smugly asked. “It's in government records. Admittedly, if you dug deep enough, a member of the public could find it, but you've always kept a low head, haven't you? Never gave anyone a reason to look.”

Gilda paused. She seemed ready to snap back, but shuffled on her feet, trying to quickly come up with an answer. Finally, she gave a defeated sigh. “What do I need to do?”

“Do you know the woman in there?” He gestured towards the folder. She glared at him, opening the folder without looking at it. Her eyes widened when she finally read over it.

“Rarity Belle.” She tapped her finger on the photograph. “What the hell are you wanting her for?”

“I reassure you, nothing involving physical harm.” He smiled coldly. “If I had wanted that, she would have died already. Rather. I want you to assist me in getting her somewhere.” Dmitri leaned forward, bridging his fingers together. “Is there anything that could spell trouble regarding that goal?”

Gilda crossed her arms, tsking as she gazed at the floor. Finally, she shrugged. “There's this woman with her a lot of the time...”