“Well, would you look at that...”

Caro stops his constant trot to look in the same direction as Tohro, only to realize that he just needs to look up. He takes in the wondrous yet silent spectacle of lights stretching across the night sky. This is something he’s never had the luxury of seeing so up close. Anypony who’s ever wanted to touch an aurora borealis is now jealous of the Dragonborn.

Tohro chuckles, prompting Caro to ask, “What?”

“Even natures itself dreads your upcoming absence, hero.”

Caro quietly concurs with that. As he takes a few small paces further across the long trail of stone slabs, he reflects on how the rest of the world seems to keep finding excuses for him to not go to Neigh Hrothgar. He dreads what could happen to Trottingham or Everfree, or any other town for that matter. His stomach cramps just at the thought of harm coming to Rosemary. She’s a headstrong mare, but what if that gets her into trouble one of these days? As for Shae... No. She’s safe now, he thinks. She has an entire academy over her head. No harm can come to her. Despite that, Caro thinks it an insult to the frail unicorn that many of his concerns lie with Tohro. His tenacity will grant him survival, but I fear the possibility of the Blackwings getting the jump on him. He isn’t going to lose that scar anytime soon.

But as he gazes through the falling snow to the faint glowing lights of Neigh Hrothgar in the distance, he entertains himself with another thought. What if there’s the off chance that everything is going to be fine? Is it possible that, just for once, the world doesn’t conspire to break while I turn my head? Even so, what I return to, I can no doubt handle. I’m the bloody Dragonborn. This is why I’m here...

He speaks aloud. “Tohro.”

“Need something?”

Caro returns to his friend and stands close, sharing eye contact. “Before I go, I should at least get some things off my chest.”

“Well, let’s hear it, then. We’ve got time.”

“I can understand why you’d be worried about me conspiring with Shokenda.” Caro touches the skin around Tohro’s left eye. Tohro flinches, not because it hurts, not in the slightest, but because the act is surprisingly intimate.

“Y-yes. She’s utterly insane, and she’s hell bent on making all of us suffer. She’s far worse than a killer, she’s a damn sadist. I have you and Shae to thank for making me realize that.”

“You’re welcome. I just want to reassure you, she and I are not friends, nor will we ever be. I’m just taking advantage of her generous proposal, and that’s where the collaboration ends.”

Tohro rests his hoof on Caro’s. “No reassurance needed, mate,” he says softly. “I may not know what it is to be Dragonborn, but I know you. You’d never bow to Shokenda, even if my life was on the line.”

“Perish the thought.” Caro mimics shoving an indiscriminate object out of sight. “That there is the one exception. I’d do anything for you.” He doesn’t take kindly to the naughty grin Tohro gives him, but he holds back the urge to slap the pegasus, if only because he has enough facial blemishes as is. “You know what I mean. I care about you and Shae so much, and I’d gladly throw myself into the fire if it meant you both could live.”

Tohro raises his brow. “Heartfelt speech, mate, but what about Rosemary?”

“Well, she’ll earn that right eventually,” Caro says with a snort. “She hasn’t been with Dragonrein long enough.”

Dark comedy aside, Caro and Tohro find a way to laugh at that notion. They’re sure that if Rosemary ever heard such a thing, they’d both carry hoofprints on their faces for a long time. Some of those wounds probably would have been inflicted by Shae if she were present.

“In that case, fearless leader of Dragonrein, you promise one thing to your best friend, and promise it well.” Tohro slowly approaches the Dragonborn and pulls him in for a surprisingly tender embrace, definitely one more personal and intimate than any they’ve had before. “You don’t forget about us regular ponies while you’re with the Greybeards. Some of us are expecting the legendary Dragonborn to come back.” While still holding Caro close, Tohro moves his head away to face him directly. “And if you don’t, I’ll storm the place and kidnap you back myself.”

“I love you too.”

“Exactly. And I’ll have probably have a few new friends to help me out.” Tohro lets go of Caro, leaving the Dragonborn a little disappointed, but his smile comes back when he sees Tohro striking a dramatic pose. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask who they’ll be?”

“I was waiting for you to say so yourself.”

“Ah, well... in that case...” Tohro turns around slowly, then after a pause, goes off on a cheery two legged bard trot. “I’m not telliiiing~! Ahaha!”

With a sneer, Caro trots up to Tohro and says, “Fus.” It’s a small burst of wind, but it’s enough to send the hapless pegasus toppling onto his back into a large pile of snow. “You’re not as poised as you claim to be, assassin.”

Tohro holds his forelegs out and gives a mock pout. “Well, hardee-har.” He graciously accepts Caro’s hoof, and is pulled out of his embarrassed state. “You know what I am going to miss more than anything when you’re gone?”

“Enlighten me.”

Tohro gestures back and forth between himself and Caro. “Just this. These little talks give me something to look forward to whenever we travel together. It’s what makes being by your side worthwhile. Sure, you put on the mien of a big scary demon with a deathly voice, and the berserker beneath your skin is nothing to scoff at, but I’ve seen you for what you truly are.” He leans in close, to the point of Caro feeling his breath on his muzzle. “A mighty softy.”

Caro nickers and gives a snort, pushing Tohro’s face away. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. By the way, given that we won’t have to be looking after Shae’s well-being, not that I ever complained, we’ll be able to spend a lot more time together.”

“Looking forward to it.”

For the longest period of time, there’s little to do but stand and watch the aurora borealis’ silent spectral dance. Both stallions think back, realizing that despite the uncertain future that lay before them, this is the first time in a while that they’ve had a moment to just enjoy themselves. No tasks grating on their conscious, no lives in immediate peril, and high hopes in their minds. It’s a significant contrast to the beginning of their adventure. Caro tragically chuckles at the many rude things he said to Tohro back at Gallopagos Keep, and how circumstances forced them to bond. If it weren’t for the many events that pushed them closer together, Caro wouldn’t be comfortable with Tohro resting his foreleg across his back, watching the serenity of nature above.

With that, the Dragonborn sighs. All of the nostalgia makes it almost painful to say, “There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. I’d best be off.” He removes himself from Tohro’s touch and moves towards the lights of the mountain bound Neigh Hrothgar. “Goodbye.”

Tohro only nods, because the veil of the night is the only thing hiding the tears in his eyes. As Caro ascends the steps, Tohro’s will to not make a sound fails him. He sniffles, then lets out a genuine sob, the first he’s made in some time. “Epona damn you! You’re making a complete fool out of me!” He squints, then shouts to his trotting friend. “You come back, you son of a bitch! You come back to Dragonrein, and I’ll take you to Riverhoof like I promised! I’m going to get you drunk under the table! I’ll... I’ll find the raunchiest barmaid to take you home! But that’s not going to happen unless you return! You swear you’ll come back to me, Caro Dragonborn!”

Tohro Blackwing waits anxiously, but he hears nothing on the evening wind. He tries to cover up his sobbing with his hoof, then wipes his eyes clean of tears, blinking out the rest. When he looks back up, he’s greeted by a certain turquoise earthwalker’s smug grin..

Tohro’s heart flies when Caro brings his snout to his cheek, nuzzling it with gentle affection. “I swear it.”

~Caro~

As immature and depressing as it may sound, and I’d hate to regress to my younger self, there was a time when I thought I’d never feel happiness again. Contrast to what common sense may say, I am not referring to those three days I spent in Gallopagos Keep. That, along with the dragon attack, was just the second time I felt despair. The third was nearly losing Shae.

I refer to the first time, on a rain drenched weekend morning. That was years ago, yet I remember every last detail. I’m good at that sort of thing. It’s a blessing in the heat of battle but a curse when it comes to my picture perfect memory.

It’s just another morning for the forge. I can still barely call myself an apprentice, but the smell of burning coals calls me from my dreams of swordplay and knights in shining armor. I eagerly throw on the one apron that doesn’t make my skin crawl and trot downstairs. Master usually starts our weekends with honey baked crumpets before work hours, and I eagerly wait for the wafting scent of sweet baking bread over the fire.

I know something is amiss when I don’t catch so much as a hint of such a thing, and there’s a nasty draft in the living quarters. Master is nowhere to be found, but his coat is hanging from the rack, meaning he must be nearby. I can confirm that when I hear Master’s voice just outside the open door, along with somepony else’s, somepony much more formal than him.

The rain is worse than I initially thought. I can barely see to the end of the street. Not one to ruin my manecut, I keep to under the awning, though it’s leaking like nopony’s business. I turn the corner and ascend the wooden steps to the actual forge of the weapon shop. When I raise my head, the first thing I see is an Imperial pegasus soldier, and she’s talking to Master. The coals of the pit are still hot. Perhaps the soldier got separated from her group and needs a replacement for her weapons or armor. I only now catch the conversation.

“...unfortunate, I know. One would prefer it to be glorious, or at least dignified, but this...” The pegasus grimaces, then stands up straight. “My apologies, sir. I’m supposed to keep an aura of professionalism, but this is my first time.”

Master lends her a comforting hoof. “Hold on to that grief, soldier, it’s what keeps you sentient.”

She shakes her head. “The Legion encourages us to remain hardened under even the worst circumstances.”

I have nary an idea what they’re speaking of. The creak of the wooden brace I’m leaning on alerts them both to my presence. I see something on Master’s chiseled face that I’ve never seen before. I’ve hardly seen him do anything but smile or grin, but to see genuine sadness, with a hint of fear... “Child,” is all he says, acknowledging me.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

The soldier clears her throat and turns back to Master. “Hammerfell, you and your, uh, protege will be receiving compensation over the next few months. I speak on the behalf of the Imperial Legion when I say I apologize profusely. Earthquake and Goldheart will be dearly missed.”

The soldier begins her departure, though she pauses. Apparently I’m standing in her way. She looks at me like she expects me to move. But first, I have a question. Well, more like a statement. “My parents are dead.”

She nods.

I step away from the brace, then I take a few deep breaths. Then I open my mouth.

When my vision comes back I’m quivering underneath the covers of my bed. My dresser, candles and toy chest are thrown across the room, buried underneath my torn curtains. The only part of my body that isn’t blanketed is my right hoof, which Master is bandaging and cleaning of glass shards.

That was years ago. I wasn’t as close to my parents as I should have been. I suppose that was another part of my building resentment for the Imperial Legion, with them being taken away from me for many years, and then the Divines taking them from me forever. All before I could ever get to know them as ponies beyond parents. That’s why I was angry more than anything else.

But it still hurts, and I only have the time to reflect on this because, for the first time since Tohro saved me from the chopping block, I am alone. Throughout this journey I’ve been secretly hoping for at least a minute by my lonesome. It’s discombobulating to think I actually miss Tohro. What am I saying? Of course I miss Tohro. Who wouldn’t?

So, even if I did lose my entire known family, I managed to fill the void with some new friends. I really should have been more grateful from the start. My head would be rotting in an antisocial grave if it weren’t for Tohro.

After all of that, my thoughts come to a standstill, as do I, when I step on the last stone slab that represents the climb to Neigh Hrothgar. Granted, Tohro and I took the short way around by taking the slanted edge around the mountain. If I were to follow these steps back down, I’d be all the way back at Ivarstable. Ahead of me is what’s important, though. What used to be the bridge to Neigh Hrothgar has crumbled into nothing, leaving me to wonder how I’m supposed to even get there. I can’t make use of my sprinting shout, the distance is too great. The same goes for my antigravitational shout.

Then, of course, just as I recall the warmare who convinced me to come here in the first place, she appears to me, flying out of the chasm and landing on the remains of the bridge.

“The Greybeards isolated themselves from the majority of ponykind quite a while ago,” says Shokenda Blackwing. “This broken bridge keeps anypony unwanted from coming to their doorstep. The broken means of transportation would discourage even a pegasus from going across, and even then, the Greybeards only answer their door for so few.”

“That few included Master Hammerfell...” I mutter. I look to the lights of the settlement before me. From a closer perspective, Neigh Hrothgar looks to be a large temple that leads to a surrounding residential area, but it would be completely inaccessible to any walking traveler. I’m sure they have a transparent barrier or two for protection from their foes.

Shokenda flutters to the edge of the bridge and sits upon it, appearing unusually casual for, well, being her. “Thousands of years of Precursor knowledge lay dormant within, but your conquest requires the assistance of the Greybeard monks. They are the ones who have devoted themselves to the Thu’um and all things draconic. They’ll welcome you warmly. As for me, they won’t take too kindly to what they consider a false god. It's ironic. I may be a god but I firmly value Dragos just the same as them.”

“There are different ways of worshipping the same god,” I say. “You follow Dragos as a god of war, while I can guess these Greybeards worship her as the mother of dragons. Without her, there’d be nothing for them to devote their lives to. I hear the dragons and Precursors were very much intertwined.”

Shokenda returns to standing. “That they were, Caro Dragonborn, but you’ll hear it clearer from the mouths of the monks. Now, come along.”

I’ve been a victim of levitation magic before, but I’ll never get used to the feeling of weightlessness, and it’s difficult for me to hold my composure as Shokenda hovers me over the chasm, flying after me to the other side. Still, this is a better alternative than riding her. I shudder at the thought. If it were Tohro flying me, I wouldn’t complain. I have to sit down for a moment after Shokenda’s golden aura leaves me.

So, here I am. All that remains of this quiet trip to Neigh Hrothgar is, oh, of course, more stairs. Still, part of me is filled with anticipation for what lies ahead, the good sort of anticipation.

“Our destiny awaits, Caro Dragonborn,” says Shokenda. She’s not even fazed; I’m sure Shae would be halfway asleep by now if she lifted my entire body. “First, you will learn the true virtues of your ancestry, the Dragonborn that have come before. Then your true powers will reveal themselves.”

“True powers?” I ask.

Shokenda tosses her mane. “There’s much more to being a Dragonborn than shouting your way to success and eating souls, are you aware?” She begins to ascend the stairs.

Wait, did she just say there’s more? If that’s the case, then Otar clearly left some details out of his monologue. “Like what?”

“You’ll know in due time.”

As per usual, that question goes unanswered. I should expect nothing less from this false god. If she were a Divine, she’d sit upon a throne of lies and deceit. She must be japing about these ‘true powers’, but more so, her tendency for scheming is exactly why this alliance rubs me the wrong way. I have to stage an ultimatum. “So, your intention is to let my power grow, so you can have your legendary duel with me, and if-”

“When.”

“-you kill me, you’ll be hailed as one of history’s greatest heroes, because history is written by the victors.” I would never count that possibility out. Shokenda would be considered a hero for the same reason Argent has been forgotten to ponykind; what ponies want to remember is very subjective, it seems. Odds are, if Shokenda becomes high queen (Over my dead body), she’ll manipulate the stories in her favor. Lies and deceit. “I benefit because I will have a fighting chance against you.”

We’ve arrived at the entrance. It’s a double door engraved with two faces, one that’s vaguely equine but strikes me as reptilian as well. That must be a Precursor, yet it looks vastly different from Otar. His body was more of an exoskeleton, though he probably had a thousand years of sleep to thank for that. The other face of the door is that of a dragon, but it looks ancient compared to the ones I’ve faced, and it has a beard. Something tells me I wouldn’t want to face this one.

Finally, Shokenda answers me. “That is correct.”

“That leads to another issue. When I pass through this door,” I point to the entrance, “there’s no guarantee for how long I’ll be gone. I’ll be leaving Equestria to... you!” I bring my hoof to her, staring her down accusingly. “And that is unacceptable.”

Shokenda shrugs and puts on what I think is a haughty face. She’s still incredibly difficult to read. “Well, I cannot put my army on suspension simply because you’re off meditating with a group of elderly monks.”

“I never expected you to. I’m not a fool.” I shake my head while I lean against the door. While I speak calmly, there’s a hint of fury in my throat that threatens to escape at any moment. Shokenda inflicts fear through presence alone. Two can play at that game. “But there is something else you must do if you’re to fight the Dragonborn you were promised. Despite what I used to believe, there are good ponies here. Tohro Blackwing, Shae Sparkle and Rosemary Von Spice. They are my friends, my allies, and my family. I love them all so much, and if you harm them—” I pause and rethink that one. “No, if you so much as look at them, I will find you, tie you to a stone slab, and,” I draw my dagger, “I will cut your wings feather by feather, break every single bone within them one after the other, then tear them off slowly.” I notice that my hooves are far dirtier than they should be. I start whittling at my unarmed forehoof, still giving Shokenda the stare. “Then I will shave your horn off layer by layer, forcing you to watch as the Fae leaves you forever, and when you beg for death, I will not grant your request.”

Even the blustery wind seems to go quiet as my words trail into the night sky.

Shokenda turns around and begins her descent. “You would make for a fearsome dragon.” In a single beat of her wings, she’s gone.

Despite the images in my head serving to arouse me, that statement alone makes it feel like my heart has deflated.

“I’m not like you! I’m not! I’m not!”

And so that truth remains. Lies and deceit, that’s all she is. Yet why do her words pierce my skin so? She’s a powerful mistress with her words, I’ll give her that much. Perhaps that’s a requirement for somepony other than the Dragonborn to wield the Voice.

“Mey... Who the hell does she think she is?” When I wheel around, my anger ebbs when I see a small pegasus child. He’s pale as can be, with only a hint of yellow in his body and mane. His layered cloak and heavier coat of fur shows that he’s been living on these mountains his entire life, and by the way he’s beaming, I can tell he’s either lead an unusually happy life or I’m just a welcome sight. By the way he’s staring into my eyes, it’s probably the latter. His wings buzz like an insect’s as he beckons for me to follow. He quickly darts through the open door, and I follow.

I’m greeted by a dimly lit entrance hall. There’s a very reflective floor patterned with hexagons and a dizzyingly high ceiling, with stairs leading every which way. There are more robed ponies moving about, some carrying what must be Precursor scriptures and artifacts. These ponies are pale too. None are as unnaturally coated as Shokenda, but they’re still worthy of a head tilt, and apparently so am I. Yet, none of them say a word. My presence alone serves to light up their day.

Now that the cold of the outside has left me, I do away with my fur jacket. The child takes ahold of it and lays it over a bench in the corner. “Uh, are you a doorboy of sorts?” I ask. He nods. “In that case, uh, make sure nopony takes that... Not that I’d think they’d have a reason.” He nods again, like protecting the clothes of the Dragonborn is an honor. Then again, if he's associated with the Greybeards, it must be.

Looking about at the many entrances, I realize I have no idea as to where I’m going. I beseech the child again. “Could you take me to whoever is in charge here? Your jarl, or otherwise?” Another nod. He steps forward with a spring and leads me straight across the room, through the central exit.

This leads us back outside, but it’s not nearly as chilly as before. As I suspected, there’s the shimmer of a forcefield sealing in whatever heat this place can spare. I can see the townsfolk, there being so few, moving about between huts, though pausing with their relatively mundane activities when they get a look at me.

That’s when the boy stops, right in the center of this snow packed village beside a statue of Dragos. Unlike most depictions of Dragos, which show her as a ferocious reptilion demon out of Tartarus, this statue gives her a distinct motherly look despite her scaled form, as she gazes down upon the villagers of Neigh Hrothgar. The text engraved upon the base of the statue gives me a clearer explanation why, as I read the draconic letters aloud.

“'Dragos is treated as a god of war, but she only carries the title because none of the other Divines were willing to accept the responsibility. We, the ponies of Neigh Hrothgar, believe strongly that Dragos accepted the title so that one day war would no longer be needed. She is first, and foremost, the mother of the dragons and the many wonders that come with them. May she watch over us and protect our home from the nefarious winged beasts and guide the saccharine ones to us, for her greatest dream is equality among ponies and dragons.’"

I’ll remember this statue. This is how gods should be remembered; not as fearsome demons, but as guardians and role models. It’s a shame worship of Dragos was banned by Platinum for her burdened title alone.

“If you’re a mother to the dragons, then am I your descendant too?” I ask, reaching for Dragos’ clawed hand. To somepony else it would be a folly gesture, but I feel my words will reach her easier if I do this. Her hand almost feels real, despite its cold and rough texture. “I wouldn’t mind that, I guess. Your children have done some terrible things, but that doesn’t mean you’re evil and corrupt. Discord, now there’s a mad god. Just know that I never believed any of the hateful words against you. I’d have carried that burden too, if I had the chance.” I look back into Dragos’ eyes. It’s like she’s staring directly at me. I take that as a sign that my words have been heard. I remove my hoof. “Uh, amen.”

I return to the child, who has been waiting patiently for me. I expect him to lead me onward, but instead, the first thing he does is... sing. In draconic.

“Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,
wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal.”

The dragon’s language is many things to me, a weapon more than anything, but never did I ever think I’d ever hear somepony use the words in song. The language has struck me as too harsh and loud for any song to be possible. Yet, the child sings, and a few more villagers start to join in. I seem to be caught in the center of a sudden musical performance. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal.”

They all pause, looking to me expectantly, as if I’m supposed to complete this ensemble, or at least continue it. I dart about haphazardly, with my mind doing backflips as it tries to make heads or tails of this. I look to the child. “Uh, what should I say?”

He speaks, this time not in song. “Tahk far ehn hind,” he says. It’s become abundantly clear that none of these villagers speak the common language. It makes me wonder how many of them know how to use the Thu’um.

When I spoke to Nahkriin, all I had to do is focus the words I wished to say into the draconic language, but it’s a tad more difficult to do so in reverse. It takes me a moment, even longer than I’d like due to all the expecting eyes upon me, but when I manage to figure out the lyrics to their song, I realize they weren’t just singing for me, they were singing about me.

I mutter the translated lyrics. “Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn to keep evil forever at bay...” I can’t help but feel humbled. “And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph’s shout...”

“Dragonborn, Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray.” Another voice, this one of an elderly fellow, makes itself known behind me. I turn and see a bearded colt in even more extravagant robes, and he’s being followed by many others in the same uniform.

Before I can respond, they resume the song where the villagers left off, sounding far more organized and mighty.

“Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah,
tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!
Saviikaan, Feyn do Jun, kruziik vokun staadnau,
ahrk ok leyz fen diivon faal lein!”

I heard Saviikaan’s name in there, but before that, there was a mention of... scrolls? I’m... I’m lost. But that doesn’t change what this song clearly means. It’s a legend that’s held to my name, as well as the other Dragonborn throughout history. It seems I have a reputation to live up to.

“Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,
wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal.
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal.”

Bowing to authority is usually out of the question, except under certain circumstances, but I’m willing to kneel for these old colts. After all, they will be the ones training me in the way of the Voice.

“You are the Greybeards?” I ask.

The leader of the pack nods, then urges me to stand. “Yes. Yes we are. We have awaited the arrival of the next Dovahkiin for nearly a lifetime. The one before you did not seek our assistance, merely our hospitality. Nevertheless, his name is known to us, and to you?”

He speaks of this previous one with dread. I know who it is. “Argent.” Just the mention of his name makes the following Greybeards seem ashamed. “But I assure you, I am not like him,” I say in reassurance. “I desire power, but not for selfish reasons, only to help those who need a hero. Equestria is in pain, and I have reason to believe my influence can set things right.”

“That is all we can ask for and more, Caro Dragonborn,” says the leader. “My associates have no names, but you may call me Coax. We are eager to see your finesse in Thu’um, but before we begin, I must ask that you follow.”

Well, I’ve done nothing but follow as of late, so why amend routine? I’m eager too, so as the Greybeards turn back to the the tall temple ahead, I trot to meet Coax up front. I’m quiet and focused at first, but then something he said tweaks my mind in the wrong way. “How is it you know my name? Do you have access to liquid glass?”

“Yes, actually, but we do not abuse its properties. It is simply a means for us to see the world below. It cannot tell us of the past what we don’t already know, and its visions of the future are constantly subject to change. Our master has been using it to keep a watchful eye on you until you saw fit to come to us.”

Ah, so Coax is not the leader of this communion. I wonder if this master is even more ancient than him. It’s hard to imagine somepony with even more wrinkles. “I didn’t come out of my own volition,” I say. “I had assistance from a... a friend.” It’s physically painful to say that. “She’s proficient in the Thu’um as well.” I decide to leave out that Shokenda is an albino alicorn. That would complicate matters.

Coax looks puzzled. “We figured as much. We haven’t been able to see this friend of yours. She causes complications with the liquid glass.” He approaches the door to the temple and opens it, beckoning for me to take the first steps inside. “But we will address those matters later. Caro Dragonborn, the Greybeards and the mountainside dwellers among us welcome you to Neigh Hrothgar.”

I trot inside, though I don’t take the time to investigate the interior surroundings, instead looking back to my admirers. They swarm like bees, but unlike bees, I actually rather enjoy the appraisal. It’s comforting, the thought of having an entire village devoted to my legacy. I’ll try my best to not let it go to my head. No doubt that is what happened to Argent.

The Greybeards all follow suit, entering the temple and dispersing across the chamber. It’s very much like the entrance hall, being dim and wide, but it’s still far better than a draugr infested cavern at any rate.

When I look past the staircases, I notice that the temple is much, much larger than it appears at first glance. There’s enough room in here for the entire Imperial Legion and then some, I’d warrant. I can assume the same magic that’s used in bags of holding is in effect here, making the temple seem less gargantuan from the outside.

“So, where to?” I ask. “Where is this master of yours?”

Coax shakes his head. “The master does not heed anypony’s call but his own. He comes and goes where and whence he pleases.”

Contained within glass cabinets are many inordinately shaped weapons and objects, made of materials I’ve never seen before. This is clearly Precursor design. As I examine a curved sword with two blades to the hilt, I say, “To command those who devote themselves to the study of the Precursors, he probably should have that privilege.” I step away from the artifacts and walk about the chamber. “So, shall I just wait for him here, then?”

“That would be for the best,” says Coax. “Now, as for me and my associates, we must prepare the ancient training grounds for your education. We will be just outside if you need anything. It is good to see you at last, Dovahkiin.”

“Just call me Caro,” I say. “I’m not one for titles.”

Coax nods, then he departs with the silent ones. He shuts the door behind him, leaving me to myself. I have time to explore this temple further; I may as well, since I’m going to be staying here for a while.

Lining the walls are more statues, and unlike the one of Dragos outside, which has been damaged by possibly hundreds of years of weather (It’s unfortunate, truly. I’d have had it repaired some time ago), these ones are smooth and polished. They don’t seem to be anything beyond regular ponies, oh, and a zebra, how about that. However, it’s when I look in their eyes that I figure it out. Their pupils are slits, much like mine. That’s when I notice the letters above the statues. I read aloud, even though there’s nopony to hear me.

“'These are the mighty Dragonborn, come to end Saviikaan’s silent reign of terror o’er mountain, land and sea. Many the descendant has been put to rest, for the end of the Reclaimer has yet to be. Dragos, we pray now for the victory of the pony children of thee.'”

So these statues are of the Dragonborn of old. There are only six, but each one boasts their own unique majesty. I make sure to take in the sight of each one,

Doré Westnaire, the first Dragonborn statue, lacks any visible face due to a slanted mask beneath his hood. He wears skintight black armor with a trailing cape under his wings, and bears twin crossbows on his back.

After Doré is a burly earthwalker mare named Lilypad. She makes me look miniscule by comparison, and her sword is larger still, engraved with draconic lettering. Her armor and ornaments looks like they’re from a kingdom of another age. This stalwart mistress must have lead an entire army.

What the— Okay, who in their right mind let a young colt become a Dragonborn? This one can’t even be a teenager. Whatever the case, apparently he went by Starbright. I wonder if Starswirl the Bearded was descended from this one, assuming Starbright lived long enough to father a child. His robes are far too large for him, but his mid-spellcasting pose gives him an aura of style and maturity that defies his age.

Ah, a zebra. Evidently, my powers aren’t exclusive to ponykind. This one reminds me of Xephyr, with her cheerful disposition and lute. Evidently she carried no weapons whatsoever in her time, using music rather than violence to solve her problems. That is an admirable trait, though it isn’t something I could ever do. Her name was Xiaolin.

This next one... He seems unimpressive compared to the others, wearing simple commoner robes and a circlet. He has spiked hair straightened over one eye. His glare is quite the opposite of Dragos’, being intimidating and coarse, with no sympathy whatsoever. At least the others had a hint of compassion. I look for his name. Of course. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Argent.” I decide to have a staring contest with a statue. “Scar told me you utterly failed to be a successful Dragonborn, being an unsympathetic tosser of a pony, abusing your power for your own gain. I hope you felt proud of yourself as Saviikaan skinned you alive.”

I win.

I triumphantly hop to the next and last statue, giggling like a foolish child who heard an immature joke. I have no idea why, but seeing the previous wielders of my inheritance is entertaining as hell. I’m excited to see who the next wielder is.

This stallion is a muscular one, though he isn’t quite on Lilypad’s level. He’s posed on his hind legs, with a sword cusped in his mouth. His coat is heavy and unkempt, and the same goes for his mane and tail. His face lacks compassion at first glance, but when I get a closer look at him, I can tell his eyes carry grief. He must have seen awful things before he was awakened. Yet, beyond those eyes, I see an innate desire for a brighter future, so nopony will endure... what he... went... through...

My excitement disappears. I lower my gaze to the name of this stallion.

“'Caro of Riverhoof...'”

There’s an additional caption beneath the name, my name.

“'...apprentice to the master.'”

...What?

“Your mane used to be bronze.”

The ground tremors, as do I. Instantly snapping to attention and leaving the statues out of my mind, I equip my dagger and hold it at the ready. I step forward with caution.

This can’t be right. One would think the Greybeards would know if they had a massive dragon dwelling in the depths of their sacred temple, let alone the most enormous, monstrous, intimidating dragon I’ve encountered yet, and all I have is a dagger to go up against... him, his voice is definitely male... deep and weathered, like hot coals scraping across the pit of a forge... Dammit, I can’t get distracted!

“Come into the light, little one,” says the dragon. Curse his voice... Something about it makes my ears twitch. It’s drawing me closer into his long shadow. “I apologize for speaking so suddenly. I fear I may have startled you. Pleasant surprises are always a welcome event, but being startled can be, well, startling, for lack of a better word.”

I have to strain my neck to look at his face. The lackluster light of the chamber makes the golden glow of the dragon’s eyes nearly blindingly bright. I can only barely see him stroking his lengthy beard with a single claw. How am I supposed to face this behemoth with only a dagger?

“You’ve become brave. The first time you looked upon a sword you hid under the covers.”

I open my mouth and hiss, presenting my forked tongue and fangs. “Who the hell are you?! Tell me your name!”

“Challenging the enemy, yet giving them a chance to identify themselves and their motives. You even do this for the Dovah. This is admirable.”

“Tell me your name!” I shout again. I recall some of the dragons I’ve faced before being incredibly affable, even downright pleasant up until I made my first move, but this dragon is another level of polite. It’s like he knows me. Or he truly does know me... But I put such thoughts aside. This is another one of their tricks.

The dragon chuckles, and even that is enough to shake the ground. I still stand guard. "First, I want you to tell me something. What is your purpose here?” he asks. He steps forward, leaning down to reveal himself in better light. His scales are black as soot, with orange highlighting the seams in his natural armor. It reminds me of fire over an ebony blade...

"My..." I drop my stance for an instant, but I snap back into it. "My purpose is to rid Equestria of all dragons, and it is a job I do with pride.” Under normal circumstances, I would believe that, but the way this dragon speaks to me makes my will dwindle. Every word it says fills me with grief. Is that an innate power? No, it can’t be. No power like that would bring me back to the days of fire and steam, and the fresh scent of a furnished axe...

"In such short time you've become quite the stallion. Last I saw you, your mane was as bronze as the longsword hanging above my bed. You would know, of course. You made it."

It’s only a trick, Caro. You do not know him, and he does not know you. …That was my first successful craft, though... I shake my head. “Shut up!”

“Before I do, I wish for you to tell me something. Why do you desire the blood of the dragons so, Caro? Beyond your being the Dragonborn, of course.”

My eyes are stinging. Dammit, no! Why are you crying? “Because, somepony... Somepony I admired was slain by a dragon right before my eyes!” My tears stain the marble floor. Stop crying... For Epona’s sake, stop! I point my dagger at the dragon, now that his eyes are at my level. "You now defy the memory of him by using his voice!"

The dragon makes an unusual sound. I think he just tsked at me. "What would I have to gain by defiling my own name?"

His own name? But it can’t be... “I dare not imagine, what you’d...” I begin quietly, before shaking myself violently. “Stay out of my head, monster!”

The dragon reaches out, razor sharp claws illuminated by the candlelight. I make a desperate cut with for his hand but the beast swipes it aside, landing it far across the chamber, and rendering me defenseless. He then extends his other hand. I brace myself for the searing burn of torn flesh, the very same fate that befell my master... But all I feel is an affectionate, if not somewhat rough caress of the dragon's hand across my chin.

“My son...”

The warmth of that familiar voice makes my knees weak. I collapse onto my haunches, with tears falling freely. I struggle to look the beast in the eyes and see only the eyes of Master looking back. "How is this... Who... are you?"

The dragon moves his beak closer to me, to the point where I can nearly reach out and touch it. I do so carefully, and he doesn’t protest. I just need to be absolutely certain that this is real. It has to be fake. An illusion. A conjuration. Some vision from lack of sustenance... Everything about this just screams impossible.

"This is the honest truth, Caro... I am not a pony, nor was I ever. The stallion you knew me as was a temporary body. A physical extension of my conscience, if you prefer. But that was not my true form."

His palm pushes me closer to him, so I may rest my hoof on his beak. It feels stronger than diamonds. This is real. This is him. But... I refuse to... I can’t...

"I am Hammerfell. I am the eldest dragon, and the leader of the Greybeards."

“No...” The tears cascade like waterfalls. I shove myself away from his beak. “NO! Do you have any idea what I've been through?! I thought you were dead! I watched you die! I watched as Nahkriin took you away from me! When that happened, I broke. Everything I ever knew collapsed around me. I became...” I touch my hooves to my muscles, my mouth, my teeth, my eyes. “I became this!”

The dragon... Master, he strokes his beard as if this all means nothing. "Nahkriin's interception was... unintentional, to say the least, but regardless, you took the reins of your life and awakened on your own."

I back away, shaking my head, refusing to believe any of this. "This has nothing to do with that! I fought in your name... avenging the death of a pony who wasn't even real, let alone dead! Everything... everything was a lie..."

"I assure you, I am real. And I am aware of my transgressions. I could have saved you so much pain... No amount of apologies will fix this matter, will it?" He tries to touch me again but I shove his claw away. It’s more of a useless push, but he gets the hint and stops with his meaningless gesture.

"WHY?!" I scream. "Why didn't you tell me?! After everything I've seen... everything I've done... surely I could’ve handled such a simple reveal that you were ALIVE! WHY, MASTER?!”

My voice echoes through the chamber, far more than his ever did.

After a long silence, I bow my head, descending into little more than pathetic, childish sobs. I bury my face in my forelegs and just let the tears fall.

That’s when I feel the nudge of his palm again. I look up, and through the kaleidoscope of tears in my eyes, I see Master beckon to me with a flick of his claws. He’s inviting me to step onto his hand. While slow and reluctant to accept, I have nothing else on my mind that I can reasonably do. I muster up all the will I have left inside me and step aboard the softer sales of Master’s palm. I have to kneel down for a good grip as he slowly moves his hand, and me, closer to the side of his face.

I reach out and nudge the side of his face with both hooves. Despite all of this, the scales, the claws, the gargantuan wings upon his back, I still feel Master Hammerfell within this dragon. This is real. He’s here...

I wrap both of my forelegs around Master Hammerfell’s beak and squeeze as hard as I can.

I’m home.

~Vision End~

Coax levitates his flask to his lips and takes a sip. At least, the best definition of a sip. After waiting another generation for the Dragonborn to arrive, he had grown eager to indulge in a glass of this mead. When one saves such a savory, fruit filled beverage for a rare occasion, one isn’t able to enjoy it very often, or for very long. In just two gulps, the flask is rendered empty for another few decades.

“And unless I achieve Starswirl the Bearded’s level of expertise, by some miracle mastering his infamous anti-aging spell, I won’t live to see another drink of this mead. What a waste.”

One of his fellow Greybeards steps forth to take the mead and lock it away for another waiting period. Coax almost feels guilty for being the only one with the honor of drinking the ceremonial beverage, but then again, that’s the honor he gained by being the only Greybeard to learn the language of the world below. He actually prefers the common speak. It’s less harsh on his throat.

“The villagers will be celebrating for days, I’d warrant,” Coax says to his monks. He turns and begins his departure from the supper hall. “You are all excused to the training grounds. I shall go retrieve the Dragonborn and the master.”

“Haan pogaan sil hak rok gahrot?” asks a younger Greybeard.

“I sensed three within him,” Coax replies on his way out. “Two were quite strong, but the third was frail and weak. Saviikaan must have erred on that one. Either way, he’s made quite a bit of progress without our assistance. This may be easier than we thought. If not, it should at least be a simpler task to train Caro than it was for our ancestors to train Xiaolin. She insisted on shouting in rhyme...” He chuckles and grimaces simultaneously. “I have high hopes for this one.”

Coax descends the steps into the master’s chamber, passing the statues of the previous Dragonborn. He took some time to oversee the one of the current Dragonborn. It was only completed yesterday. When it was made known that Caro would arrive in Neigh Hrothgar, the master insisted they make the statue immediately, unlike the others, whose relics were commissioned after their deaths.

Coax trots further into the darkness of the chamber. He has no doubts that the master will be speaking to Caro, explaining the unfortunate circumstances that lead to this complication. Just as expected, there he is. But he isn’t standing tall as per usual.

The master is on his back, belly up, asleep in by far the most comical pose a dragon could ever manage. His majesty is ill found in this sort of position. Panning up, Coax sees Caro, laying down across the master’s gut. He too is asleep, murmuring gibberish under his breath as the rise and fall of the master’s stomach rocks him up and down. After decades of studying ancient Precursor customs and rituals, this is easily the strangest sight Coax has ever witnessed.

He backs up half a step when Hammerfell opens a single eye. “Leave us, Coax,” he says. “The little one has come far for an unfortunate confession and he is emotionally fragile. He needs to rest.”

“But, sir, if I may,” Coax says, “the sanctity the world below is constantly at risk, and with its fate interwoven into the hooves of the Dragonborn... I think waiting is beyond unreasonable.”

“Coax.”

With a second thought, Coax realizes that despite the act before him being somewhat sacrilegious, seeing such a sacred bond between a pony and dragon is something Dragos would advocate. And the word of the master is absolute. Coax bows. “My apologies, sir.”

“There is no need. Now, do keep yourself quiet on your way out. I’d prefer it if my child’s slumber were not interrupted. I have much to tell him, and I dread how he may respond.”