The twilight age. They call it that because it seems the end of this young kingdom is at hoof.

Several decades ago, six ponies of three tribes made the impossible journey from their kingdoms to the land that would be Equestria, leaving their frozen graveyards behind to the mercy of the windigos.

Among these ponies were Chancellor Puddinghead and Smart Cookie, leaders of a nomadic tribe of earthwalkers, and the Great Plains on which they traveled. Their fertile land was reduced to ice.

Commander Hurricane of the pegasus legion, strong and resolute, left his frozen capital of Olympus behind, alongside his loyal friend, Private Pansy.

Princess Platinum and Clover the Clever departed their once prosperous kingdom of Gran Magus, abandoning a life of luxury for one of peace.

Unfortunately, peace was beyond reach. The tribes inevitably found each other. Their irreconcilable differences sparked a second war of settlement, and they fought for the land with what little armies they had gathered.

In the end, a bond between them was forged on a common idea; no matter the tribe, whether one has a horn, wings, or strong legs, they are of ponykind, and deserve happiness.

That was the first Heath's Warming, and once the snow melted, the six created the kingdom of Equestria together.

It has been some time since then, and despite the best of intentions and decades of development, idealism has given way to cruelty. Fate has separated the six. Platinum sits upon the throne alone. Murder, sickness and misery rule the fields of Equestria.

It will take much more than another blizzard for ponykind to see the errors of their ways. The end of Equestria will be baptized in flame.

For many, it’s hard to tell when matters go from bad to worse.

The shackles grip at the ankles of the prisoners, keeping them from stepping more than a half inch at a time. Two pairs of armed unicorn soldiers stand at the front and back entrances to the stone tower. A yellow coated earthwalker stands between the unicorns with a piece of parchment. “General Tangerine, representing the Imperial Legion," she announces. "You are all here for different reasons, but in my eyes you are all criminals, and Equestria will be better off without you. Step forward as I call your name.”

A pegasus at the front of the line mumbles to himself. “This Empire and their lists... How much longer will this take?”

The general glances to the pegasus and huffs. “Stifle yourself, else you will be sent to the block without defense.” She examines her parchment. “You are Flatfoot of Fillydelphia, yes? You’re rather bulky for a thief. You are charged with seven counts of theft. Over six hundred bits have been lost to the ponies of Fillydelphia due to your actions. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty.”

“What do you say in your defense?”

“Well, I should say I am guilty, just not for what you accuse me. I am sure if this Imperial Legion was truly as magnificent as it claimed to be, you would know that my debt to Fillydelphia far exceeds six hundred bits.”

“However, you admit to your crimes?”

“Absolutely. I may be a thief, but I am not a liar.”

“Very well.” The general stamps the name of the thief in permanent red ink. The two guards at the south entrance blindfold Flatfoot and escort him outside to a balcony, where jeers of civilians can be heard.

Standing amongst the remaining prisoners is an earthwalker of lesser age than the rest. For three days and two nights he has been locked in this tower for a reason he cannot comprehend. Those days show on his coarse and rough turquoise coat and in his normally well trimmed greying mane, which now hangs unkempt in front of his eyes. He tries to resist the increasing numbness in his legs. These shackles are not made to fit more muscular ponies such as him.

He and a few others do not wince at the sound of the executioner’s axe falling upon Flatfoot’s neck. Other prisoners begin to act squeamish, knowing they will soon meet the same end.

The next two prisoners are taken forward, a unicorn whose horn is cracked and an earthwalker with a bright, muddy brown coat. The unicorn is accused of infidelity, and another earthwalker is found guilty of stealing from the apothecary he had worked in. Even though he has the look of an unfairly accused, he is unable to plead his case due to his lack of tongue.

Finally, the general calls the turquoise earthwalker forward. “Who... are you?”

“My name is Caro,” he says, straining to show pure loathing to the soldiers surrounding him.

The general looks at him with a puzzled expression. “Unusual name for a commoner. What does it mean?"

"My master gave it to me because it has no meaning. He wanted me to be free from the bonds of fate." Caro looks to his chains, then back to Tangerine. "Ironic. I should have known his promises would fall empty. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

The general casts out her hoof, which is armored with a bladed gauntlet. The sight of it shuts Caro right up. "Do not make attempts at intimidation. Now, you are charged with the murder of forty-seven innocents and the destruction of Reinoc.” She keeps the illusion of professionalism despite her eyes showing discomfort from simply looking at Caro. “How do you plead?”

Caro thinks back to his struggle. Near starvation, thirst and a lack of sunlight has made the memory distant. He remembers few things beyond flashes of light, cold anger, and a bodies torn limb from limb. He sighs and shakes his head, knowing that even if he pleads innocent, his defense will be met with mockery. How would they believe me? he wonders. He clenches his teeth and speaks. "If you Imperials had any sense you would know I couldn't have possibly put forty-seven ponies to death, much less destroyed several buildings with my bare hooves. I trusted this empire once, but you've effectively destroyed what little sliver of respect I had for you. It's no wonder you're losing this war—"

The blade comes out again, threatening Caro into silence. A minute that feels like an eternity passes by before the general clears her throat. It's obvious she’s anxious to send the accused to his death as soon as equinely possible. “He remains defiant. Guilty as charged.”

Caro’s fate is sealed but he does not bat an eye. Death is merely an inconvenience to him, and the same goes for most others in Equestria. If not by axe, it will be by the blade of a rebel, or a false step on a journey through the mountain pass. Few have the luxury of living to see their elderly years.

Such is the way of the twilight age.

“Hey, up and at ‘em, boy,” says one of the unicorn soldiers. His voice is somewhat muffled by his helmet, which covers everything except his horn, which glows with a yellow aura as he levitates a blindfold to Caro’s eyes.

The blindfold does its job well. Caro can only barely make out the illumination from the wallbound torches and the sunlight creeping through the southern entrance. The door slowly opens as he is pushed to where he assumes the executioner stands.

The soldier chuckles. “Smile for the crowd. Ponies come to Gallopagos Keep from all over just to see justice dealt.”

How an execution draws an audience is a mystery to Caro. He thinks, Are these ponies so depraved that they must watch their own kind die? It disgusts him to the core and makes him wish that the soldier would push him faster so the axe of the executioner can sever him from all the grating voices. They're indistinguishable but they all carry the same passion for so-called justice.

The soldier holds a hoof up to Caro’s chest, causing him to halt. Then the soldier forces him to his knees and lays his neck on the block. As if to add insult to injury, they have yet to remove the blood of the previous victims. It’s still warm.

A priestess pony with the voice of an elderly woman asks Caro, “Shall I give you your last rites?”

"Oh, now you care," he mutters.

The priestess takes it as a yes. “Thus, as we commend your soul to the Divines, we hope your passage into the next life is swift and painless. May you be pure in death if you were not in life.”

Caro mouths the words as she speaks them, having heard this prayer several times before. He could never escape these public executions, and now he’s a part of one. It’s almost hilarious to him. Almost.

He listens to the executioner take two steps back. He hears the blade of the axe cutting the humid air as it levitates above his head. The fur of his neck stand on end. His heart begins to pound faster and faster by the second. He grits his teeth and waits for the moment when every sense stops working and the world comes to a screeching halt.

The world keeps moving. Only the crowd goes silent.

Caro lifts his head off the bloodstained cinder block. He hears the executioner grunting and stomping against the wooden platform. A few of the soldiers chuckle.

“It seems our friend has lost control of his weapon.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time!”

“Stuff it, the both of you!” the general commands as she exits the tower. She speaks to the executioner. “Bloodbane, if your horn is malfunctioning we can find someone else to finish the beheading.”

“‘S not me’, ma’am. Sumthin’ else is movin’ me axe!”

The crowd is starting to get restless, and Caro feels a pang of anger, diluted as it is. He thinks sarcastically, They came here to see a show and that show’s being ruined. Oh, the horror, the horror...

Somepony yelps in pain from close by and Caro smells the faint but unmistakable stench of burnt flesh. What’s going on? He wants to be more worried, or more of anything, really, but his mind is feeling sluggish. The drugs... I’ve got to fight this off...

None of that really matters anymore as the impact of the executioner’s weapon causes him to stumble to the side, out of the way of something that carries the heat of a fireball.

“Hello, Caro!”

He looks around for whomever called his name despite knowing that the action is pointless. The blindfold is still covering his eyes... until somepony slips their hoof under the veil and rips it off in a single pull.

Those three days without a glimpse of daylight catch up to Caro in an instant, leaving him nearly blinded by the sun and cloudless sky.

The ground shakes again as he’s pushed out of the path of stampeding soldiers, or civilians, he can’t tell. As he lands on the cobblestone, he squints his eyes and barely manages to get a glimpse of the one who freed him of the blindfold.

A male pegasus stands over him. He boasts a white coat with long wavy locks of blonde hair. He wears a blue tunic reinforced by leather greaves and spaulders. “Has your eyesight returned?” he asks.

Caro keeps blinking, trying to ignore the pain beneath his lids. “It's getting there. But why do you care?”

“We’re in a warzone, Caro! Every second counts!”

Only now does Caro notice the clashing of swords and magic in the streets. Many more pegasi wearing dark garb are assaulting Imperial soldiers in packs.

Caro looks at the white pegasus when it dawns on him. “You’re all Blackwings! What the hell are you doing here?!”

A stray shot from a unicorn soldier collides with the tower, causing rubble to cascade toward Caro.

The pegasus pulls him out harm’s way again. After the loud impact, he laughs. “Ah, the brilliant convict finally realizes! Yes! We’re the rebellious Blackwings, out to silence all who dare to oppress the advancement of ponykind! Such is the way of the twilight age, as Shokenda says, ahaha!”

"Shokenda? You mean, Shokenda Blackwing?" Caro spits at the cobblestone, but a small twinge of fear creeps into his mind at the sound of that name. “If she's here, I want nothing to do with this. I don’t associate with your kind.”

“What do you mean by that, mate? We’re both ponies.”

“Aye, but I know how you Blackwings are, and it isn’t how you describe it. I’m leaving.” Caro only manages half a step before his shackles catch him and he falls on his face again, right into a puddle. The pegasus laughs again.

“Ohoho! Instant karma! Come now, you’re not going anywhere with those things on.” He helps Caro back onto his hooves, and then fiddles with the locks for a moment before spitting in frustration. “Damn, whoever crafted these made them practically unbreakable.”

Caro glances at the locks holding him. He chuckles.

“What’s so funny?”

“One of those forty ponies I supposedly, uh, killed? One of them was a blacksmith. My master, actually. These locks are of his design.”

Tohro chuckles. “The irony, eh? So you can pick it, then?”

Caro just shakes his head. “These need a key, won’t open otherwise. They’re enchanted.”

The pegasus scratches the back of his head. “Well, this wasn’t part of the plan at all. ‘How about this! Let’s put all our troops into storming an execution and rescuing a prisoner but Divines forbid they actually think they use a good lock to tie him up otherwise this whole thing goes to Tartarus—’”

Caro raises his hoof, causing the pegasus to immediately stop his blathering. “Stop yourself. Do you mean to say this attack is...”

“All for you, Caro. Feel special?”

Caro would rub his temples if it weren't for the shackles. "Uh, I'm confused, more than anything. Perchance of pissed off, too. Everything about these past few days I've been nothing but shoved around with no clue as to why." He exhales. After three days of near silence, even speaking for a little while has him exasperated. "Just... tell me why I'm so important, because I sure as hell can't think of any reason."

The pegasus raises his hoof, ready to answer, but pauses. His eyes dart side to side as he says, “I honestly don’t know. That’s the one thing I don’t like about the Blackwings. One reason we’re so damn efficient is because our superiors don’t bother with explanations. If I’m gonna dive bomb a bloke minding his own, then I want a good—”

“You talk too much.”

“Okay...”

So, there they stand surrounded by chaos and destruction with nowhere to go. Caro looks to the sky, hoping for a much more pleasant view up above than what is transpiring at ground level.

Earlier it had been a relatively pleasant day in terms of weather. The Weather Guild had cleared the clouds from the sky. However, it seems that in a span of a few minutes a storm has begun to billow over the keep. Lightning now strikes arbitrarily at the ground. One bolt lands dangerously close to Caro. He jumps to the side, locking up the chains again and leaving him lying on his side.

“The Divines must despise me!” he shouts. “Try to smite me after I accidentally survive my execution! This is the cruelest joke in history.”

The pegasus has other thoughts. He looks to the tower opposite the damaged one. “Oi, Blazethorn! Watch where you’re aiming! You almost hit us!”

A yellow unicorn looks down from his perch atop the tower, a hoof absentmindedly poking at his eyepatch. “Sorry, sir! I’ll adjust my aim!”

“You’d best!” The pegasus brings Caro to his hooves again. “C’mon, you lucky bloke. Let’s get to that tower and find us some keys. Shokenda wants you at your best possible condition when she finally gets to meet you. She's been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Despite being rescued from a cruel and unusual punishment, this isn’t what Caro considers a welcome situation. “Oh, joy! I thought I told you I wanted nothing to do with you. Just unlock my shackles and let me leave.”

“That's not happening, I'm afraid. When Shokenda expects somepony, she damn well gets them.” The pegasus helps Caro hobble slowly across to the adjacent tower as the lightning strikes continue. Thunder can be heard in the distance, like a far away crowd at an opera. “Right on time!” shouts the pegasus. He lets Caro go. “You sit and rest, okay? I’ll be right back with a key. Or a sledgehammer.”

Caro sighs and sits on a haystack. He watches the gray clouds twist and turn. In a flash they part. A gap of pure sunlight in the stormy skies illuminates a patch of grass bordering the tower. Many soldiers and Blackwings alike stop their fighting to squint at the gap and see a descending midnight blue chariot pulled by six heavily armored pegasi. It circles the battleground and lands on the illuminated grass, right in front of Caro. He watches helplessly as the hooded mare controlling the reins disembarks the chariot, landing on the grass with perfect grace.

This pony’s very presence demands reverence. Her cloak hides her face, so nopony can look her in the eye. She wears exotically decorated greaves and multiple tokens and gems of reward, or perhaps crime, across her neck. Thunder rolls across the sky with every step she takes. Those powerful steps lead her closer and closer to Caro, who begins to sweat. He fears this one, and she knows it.

When she stands above him, he swallows. Her face is obscured but he can still feel her breath as she looks him over so carefully. Upon closer inspection, the cloak is not just blue. It contains a cloudless night sky in its fabric... only it isn’t fabric. Caro’s fear reaches its peak when he realizes that the cloak is made from the fur of an ursa.

He manages to exhale when the mare finally moves her head back. At that moment, the blonde pegasus colt trots out of the tower with a set of keys jangling in his mouth, with possibly every piece of armor, weapon and gold bit that had been in there stacked upon his back. When he sees the hooded mare he stops in his tracks, a helmet falling from the top of the pile to land backwards on his head. He stands up straighter, lifting a wing to his forehead in salute. “Mmm!” He spits out the keys. “Ma’am!” The grim terror of the moment shatters at his shenanigans.

The hooded figure speaks. “Indeed. This is the one I've been seeking?”

The blonde pegasus nods, his face concealed by the helmet. “Yes’m. That’s him. He’s a tad... shrimpy, for somepony of such muscular stature.”

Caro feels a small touch of anger flare up.

“Perhaps it's because he's malnourished. Tohro!” the hooded mare shouts. “Remove that ridiculous helmet and do the same for this boy’s shackles.”

The pegasus, whom Caro now knows as Tohro, begrudgingly parts with the helmet. A few other Blackwings come along to take the stolen armor and loot to the carriage.

Caro is at least a little bit grateful that somepony has thought to assist him. He relishes the moment when he hears the click of the enchanted lock, and stretches his limbs almost excessively when the chains come loose. “I’m not proud to associate with the Blackwings but I suppose you have my thanks,” he says. "I would appreciate if you left me alone. I will not work for you. I work for nopony anymore."

She only heard the first part of his boast, evidently. “You are most welcome,” says the hooded mare as she turns to see the damage left behind by the rescue operation. “The Empire sees no quarrel in drugging their prisoners into welcoming the blade, but your strength will return in time. We had to intervene. You are far too important to lose.”

Caro snorts derisively. “Too important?” It’s just as much a question to this dark mare as it is to himself. He waves off the idea. “I think you have me mistaken for a different pony. I’m just a blacksmith’s apprentice. Well, I was.”

“Then you are selling yourself short.”

“But why?” asks Caro. “What do you see in me that I don’t?”

“You’ll come to understand in due time.”

Caro fumes. "Can't you tell I've had enough of these unanswered questions?! I’m tired of stumbling around in a stupor! Tell me what’s happening or I’ll—”

He whinnies and jolts back as the hooded one’s magic blocks his words and pulls on his mane.

“Watch your words!” yells Tohro. "You speak to a god among mortals!"

"I find that hard to believe..." Caro grunts.

"You'll believe." The hooded one makes large steps back to her now loaded chariot. As she boards, she shouts to Tohro. “Escort our guest through the underground cellars and out the back entrance. We will meet at our base of operation.” She summons a whip from her horn. With a crack, her pegasi servants take to the skies, leaving the ruined fort behind. The storm clouds relinquish and the partly cloudy skies return.

“She must be quite powerful to manipulate the weather like that,” says Caro.

Tohro does a double take and gestures to where the carriage disappeared. “That is the least of what she can do! Don’t you even know who that is?”

“Uh...”

“That was Shokenda Blackwing, the true high queen!”

"Ah..." Caro swallows when he realizes how close to death he might have just come, for the second time that day no less.

Tohro tilts his head in disbelief. “I think the Imperials drugged you a little too much. Shokenda would have executed anypony else on the spot. You're lucky she considers you so important."

“I told you already, I'm just a... former blacksmith’s apprentice from Riverhoof. I'm of no value to you or anypony, and I'd rather take my chances out in the Equestrian highlands than spend another second around you rebels.” Caro begins to sprint but he nearly trips again as Tohro intercepts.

“Where do you think you’re going? Odds are the general has already called for reinforcements. We must flee stealthily!” Tohro wraps his foreleg around Caro's, making the earthwalker's skin crawl. He shoves the pegasus away.

"Fuck off!” he hisses. "Stop dragging me into your schemes. I want no part of this!"

“You’re still a wanted murderer. Even if they pardon you for that, I doubt that anypony that’s come into contact with us Blackwings is worth keeping alive for very long in their eyes.”

As much as it pains him, Caro cannot argue with his savior’s logic. He takes a deep breath and bucks the brick wall in frustration. “Cellar?”

“Cellar.”

“So Caro, I want you to tell me everything.”

“Everything about what?”

“What exactly went through your head when you saw it? How did you feel when you took that sword in your mouth and utterly obliterated that thing?”

Caro can only remember flames. Screaming... Blood. The lingering emotions of dread and terror remain, though. He presumes the details of that horrid event will return in due time.

“That was only a few days ago, but it feels like years. It feels like... I don’t know... a distant memory of infancy, when one’s mind has yet to comprehend life. I know it happened, I just don’t know how or why. Hey, do you have a light?”

“Wha—? Oh, hold on, let me spark this torch.” The ear stabbing sound of stones grinding together precede a small blaze illuminating the dark moss infested cavern. “I feel sorry for the poor sods who were stationed at this dump,” says Tohro as he carefully latches the torch onto his bag of holding. He gestures to the area ahead. “Look.”

Moldy wooden cupboards and shelves line the walls, stocked with half empty bottles of brandy and mead. The remains of a partially eaten meal of sunflower salad and tomato soup are scattered around hastily set tables.

Caro, carefully moving forward, steps in a puddle of the soup. It’s still warm. “I think they got up and left right in the middle of lunch... to stop you.”

Tohro puts on an obnoxious smile that makes Caro’s face burn. “Well, obviously that didn’t work out. The least they could have done is left something edible behind. This place has ataxia written all over it!” While he rather loudly gripes, Tohro begins indiscriminately searching through the cupboards and checking the undersides of tables and chairs. “You neeeever know what somepony might leave behind.”

Beyond the cluster of shelves Caro notices a rack of weaponry hanging from the wall, reflecting the light of the torch. Shields, maces, morning stars... an iron longsword, complete with a sheath. Huh... Almost forgot what it was to smile. He removes the blade from the rack and slips on the sheathe. It fits almost perfectly, and the blade hardly feels like a burden. "That’s everything I’ll ever need," he says.

“What, you’re going bareback?” asks Tohro, who is still scrubbing for scraps. He points to a set of Imperial armor he had thrown aside. It's a light set; a purple tunic shielded by a vest of mail, along with thin gauntlets.

"Must be meant for scouts... Even so," Caro kicks the set away, “armor is an obstruction. I find it rather uncomfortable. I may equip some in the future, but only out of necessity.”

“If you say so. I think you made the right decision anyway. I’m not too fond of the purple cloth. Princess Platinum’s blacksmiths have no sense of subtlety.”

Caro snorts. "You’re one to talk."

Galloping ahead with no spoils to speak of, Tohro pauses to peak around the corner of the stairway leading lower into the caverns. “I think the coast is clear.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” asks Caro. “Everyone in this fort is either dead or a Blackwing, and they've likely all up and left.”

“Well, you can never be too careful. Who’s the one with more experience in the field here?”

Caro finds that question difficult to answer as he follows Tohro down the steps, albeit slower. As the rambunctious pegasus makes a left turn at bottom of the steps, Caro shouts, “You have experience, yes, but I doubt you have the common sense to use it.” No response is heard. “Hey! Blackwing!” he calls again.

There is no sound but the creaks of wood and the whistle of wind.

Turning the corner, ever so slowly, Caro sees an unexpected sight. Tohro is pinned to the wall by a heavily built dark green unicorn who wears only a black cloak.

“Yer the lil’ sky demon that destroyed me beautiful axe!” says the unicorn.

Tohro squirms against the big one’s hooves to little success. “I don’t care about your stupid—” His mouth is jammed shut by a punch to the snout. He’s then thrown into a stone pillar, causing dust to fall from the ceiling.

“Yer not goin’ anywhere, yeh pest!”

It takes Caro a moment to notice that the big unicorn has the same juvenile voice and speech pattern as the executioner. It is the executioner. It is easy to see that he enjoys his profession a little too much as he steps on Tohro. The pegasus looks miniscule by comparison.

Caro’s mind begins to race as he feels for his neck, realizing that just moments ago, he could have lost everything to that idiot, and that idiot is ready to put Tohro six feet under simply because he is so depraved and bloodthirsty.

Such is the way of the twilight age, Caro thinks. It makes him sick to his stomach.

He sees Tohro’s teeth clench and snout flatten against the stone floor as the executioner’s hooves press gradually harder against his skull.

Caro hates that Blackwing’s guts, but as that Blackwing is the one that saved his life, he feels obliged to bite down on the handle of his new iron sword, unsheathe it, and gallop right at the gargantuan glork of a unicorn.

A single headbutt throws the executioner off balance, right onto his flank, allowing Caro to get a view of his mark. An axe. How fitting.

“Who in the—” The executioner fumbles about, trying to get his cloak out of his face. He finally sees Caro. “You! Yer the one that got away!”

Caro's overgrown mane falls in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside as a taunt towards the oaf. “Yes, I am. Maybe next time you’ll send roses first.”

The executioner snarls and leaps at Caro, his horn glowing. Caro jumps to the side, and the executioner hits the ground, a woodcutter’s axe in his magical grip. “I’ll behead ye yet, laddie!”

“What,” Caro asks as he dodges a wild swing, “not even gonna give me your name?” This just seems to enrage the executioner further, and it turns out to be a mistake.

“RRRRAAAARGH!!! Let’s see if ye can dodge this! Hahahaha!” A whirlwind of the executioner's intense blue aura forms. Every weapon in the room is lifted up and sent spinning.

Caro resists the urge to drop his sword and run. Instead, he faces the flurry head on. “Oh, I’m sorry, but you’re not my type. I prefer ponies who have finesse.” He dives into the vortex of weaponry, jumping right between two poleaxes to land beside the executioner inside the radius of the attack. The executioner barely has enough time to register he made a critical error before he finds a sword sprouting from his chest. "We're done here."

“Oi... thar be yer roses, laddie...” The executioner falls to the ground. His weapons create a clatter as his magic, and life, come to an end.

Tohro whistles as he massages his forehead. “You’ve got some fancy hoofwork there. Maybe we should dance sometime.” He laughs.

Caro just snorts and sheathes his blade. “Sorry, I don’t dance with imbeciles.”

The stench of mildew and rust mixes with that of the executioner’s freshly spilt blood, prompting Caro to help Tohro to his feet and lead him further down the path. “Thanks a lot, by the way,” says Tohro. “You’re not such a hardass after all.”

Caro doesn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he has to keep him alive.

“You’re still denying that you’re something special, huh? I doubt just any old blacksmith’s apprentice could take on a thug like that and live to tell the tale.”

“I got lucky,” Caro says, inhaling the still-fresh scent of the executioner's blood. "Very lucky..."

“Oh, I’m sure.”

As they continue, signs of former pony habitation decrease. Paved roads give way to moist dirt and stone, and the already minimal amount of lit torches disappear entirely. The caverns are far from unlit, though. Sunlight peaks in from cracks in the rock ceiling.

Tohro sighs as he gazes longingly to what little sky can be seen. “Damn you, Shokenda. Why does she always make me do stuff like this? Pegasi aren’t meant to work underground.”

“I guess she figured I’d be more willing to cooperate with you than anypony else,” says Caro.

“Well, I am the one who gave your gift of sight back.” Tohro stretches his hind legs and cracks his neck. He looks at Caro. “I know you hate me and the Blackwings, but do you at least trust me?”

Caro doesn’t even have to think about that. “No,” he states very clearly.

Their journey through the expanding catacombs lasts at least another hour. Luminous fungi fills the cracks in the walls. Stalagmites close off many potential exit routes, and frigid rivers prove to be quite the obstacle.

“Look, I’ll just carry you over,” says Tohro. Caro passes up the offer.

“You possess neither the strength, nor my confidence.”

Tohro groans, and sets about checking every nook and cranny he can as Caro slogs through the underground channel.

The dark reaches of the cavern steadily begin to fill with natural light, and it seems that journey’s end is a straight shot across a field of sand broken up by sharp rocks and weeds. The only thing of threat is...

“Bear,” snaps Tohro. He crouches behind a rock and Caro follows suit. The two slowly peek over their cover and see a rather nastily sized grizzly obstructing the alcove leading out of the miserable dungeon and into the open fields. Scraps of purple cloth and armor litter the sand surround the sleeping bear, and upon closer inspection, blood stains its lips.

Tohro’s eyes widen in mild shock. “I think I know what happened to the surviving Imperials.”

Caro scratches his head, thinking of some sort of strat. “I could throw a stone to lure it away from the exit.”

“Don’t bother. It’ll lose interest fast and go after the strongest smell, and let me tell you, you’re not exactly a basket of roses right now.”

“Okay, fine. What’s your plan, hero?”

“No flying over it, that’s too risky. Um... ah! Almost forgot I had these!” Tohro stands up and flexes his wings.

“How do you forget those?” asks Caro, leading Tohro to slap his own face.

“No, genius. Look between the feathers.” Tohro fluffs up his wings, and Caro can see, even in the dim light in their hiding place, the glint of steel that can only be a blade.

“You have swords attached to your wings?”

“Nay, I have wing blades. Only pegasi can use ‘em, of course, though anypony worth their salt as a blacksmith can make them.” With a smirk, Tohro flutters to the top of the rock. Just being in eyeshot causes the large beast of a bear to stir. “Ready...” Tohro’s wings spread out wide, revealing many more blades hidden between his feathers. “Aim...” The bear snarls. In an instant, it launches from its resting area and charges. “Fire!” Tohro’s wings snap forward.

Caro hears a yelp of pain, and then Tohro is in front of him, grinning like a court jester that just got away with a stealthy insult of the queen’s weight. The bear stumbles about, making a futile attempt to knock the small blades from his neck, and collapses into a puddle, which slowly turns red.

It takes every ounce of Caro’s strength to avoid looking impressed, and Tohro’s look of satisfaction leads him to believe he’s failing. The laughing pegasus blows a kiss at both his wings and retrieves his blades from the corpse. He cleans the blood and fur off in the stream and reinserts them into his feathers. “I could audition for the Sisterhood of Shadows with those skills.”

Caro ascends the slope that will lead him to the world above, but a looming thought makes him pause. “I may be free of my bonds but in the minds of everypony in Equestria, I am a wanted felon.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. We’re all a little bit guilty. Even me!”

An awkward moment of silence passes.

“Okay, maybe I’m more than a little guilty. The difference is, I’m not worried. Besides, I know you didn’t kill your master, or anyone else.”

Caro knows this to be the truth but he still puts the blame on himself. I did nothing to save my master. The Empire didn’t need to force me to accept death through whatever drought they gave me. The weight of guilt was enough. Yet, here I am, alive and well, with a cocky Blackwing rebel and all the time in the world. An empty cup lays before him and he doesn’t know how to fill it. “Where will I go? What will I do?”

Tohro gives him a forceful slap on the head. “Whatever the hell you want, you big oaf!”

“I thought you were taking me to your headquarters.”

“Oh, please. I did my job. I escorted you through the cellar, and now here we are. Why don’t you just bugger off, Caro? I’ll tell Shokenda we got separated and you go to the headquarters on your own time, how does that sound?” As he speaks, Tohro nudges Caro and winks. "Enjoy your freedom for a little bit, huh?"

It takes merely a moment for Caro to make his decision, and if it were five minutes prior, he wouldn’t have given this answer. “I’d rather not separate.”

Understandably, Tohro is confused. “Huh? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me?”

“There are a lot of bears out there, and I don’t have any wing blades. Plus, you know, you’re...” The confession is almost physically painful to deliver. “You’re... you’re better than the, um, other Blackwings.”

The clumsy delivery only seems to lighten Tohro’s mood and cause his smile to grow wider. “Fantastic!” he shouts.

Caro stops him from cheering any louder and covers his mouth. “However, I must establish some parameters. First... I... uh...” A loud rumble silences him. The adrenaline of the escape and struggle through the cellars and cavern had caused him to forget he has hardly eaten a healthy meal in more than three days. "First..." He lowers his head. "Divines, damn it..."

He feels another pat on the head, this one more affectionate than the last. “First, you need a little rest and relaxation, mate. Come along, I know a place. I don’t think it’s too far.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Tohro.”

Thus, the two take a simultaneous step unto green grass and wet dew as the the shadows of the cavern relinquish to the warm sunlight and bright blue skies of Equestria.

Tohro's laugh flies across the lush, green field. "Trust me, I'll show you the ways of the Blackwings yet, then you'll be practically begging me to take you to Shokenda!"

“There is no reason to doubt myself,” Shokenda Blackwing says in monologue. “I know it is him.”

At the high elevation she travels by, the clouds act as a cover protecting her chariot from sight. Nopony sees her. She only sees them. That is her solace.

“Finally, we have obtained our trump card. Many thousand ponies occupy this land and I found the one, the one whose voice will carry us into a new tomorrow."

She shuts her eyes and envisions a turquoise earthwalker fully clad in Blackwing armor, standing amongst the ruins of Everfree. The image is unfathomably beautiful to her. If she were capable of shedding tears, she would.

“Oh, you poor, mortal fool. You don’t see your true potential. I know better. If the legends are true, you will become more mighty than any earthwalker, more cunning than the most intelligent unicorn, and swifter than the most skilled pegasus.”

Shokenda looks to the empty sky, right into the blinding light of the afternoon sun, and laughs with utter glee and serenity.

“Caro! You only know yourself as a blacksmith’s apprentice, but you are so much more!”

Author's Notes:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UW7EnixZVNI