“Staring out to the hourglass inside, my mind is racing and wild...
Blinded by eyes that cover up the facts, uncertainty with all the cracks in a smile...
I'm breathing life or death, are we making progress?
Not really sure this time, the choice is yours and mine...
Not sure what to do next, no real test reflex, can't touch or see with my own eyes.”

Tohro pauses with a single hoof over the grass. He groans aloud, then takes flight, jumping to the largest tree within eyeshot. He sidles around until he is quite sure he is out of view of anypony he does not wish to see, but he can still hear the deep braying of the zebra. Xephyr’s voice is completely unmistakable.

Tohro tucks in his wings. May as well take the time to ensure everything’s in order, he figures. Priding himself on his ample preparations, he searches through his pouches to check on the supplies generously donated to him by the good townsfolk of Baltimare. Although, he is loose with the word ‘donate’, as donation usually requires the donor willingly giving their possessions away.

It’s for a good cause and nothing more. Besides, if one small, unnoticeable act of theft contributes to the masses, then who wouldn’t be begging for the magic hooves to slip into their pockets? Needs of the many and all that. Altair believes in a good enough cause to justify breaking the law. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

First, Tohro checks the pockets lining his barrel. Okay, I have ten replacement wing blades and sixteen lockpicks in my supply pouch...

He feels for his back. My crossbows are ready, and my quiver is full of enough steel bolts to last me a long battle.

He then moves his hooves to his flank for the pouch around his belt. Enough healing potions to mend a shot in the ass, and a well brewed set of stamina potions if I get exhausted... His blush would be visible if it weren’t for his cowl.

That would have come in handy with Twitch and Silence. The thought of his fellow thieves and their well spent free time serves as a fine motivator for the white pegasus. But those mares quickly leave his mind when he hears the impeccably timed snapping of a twig around the corner.

With a flick of his foreleg, a single short blade erects from his gauntlet, glinting in the concentrated light of the woods. One hidden blade... He stands and swings around the tree, ready for the kill.

Xephyr casts out his hoof and backs away. “Tohro! Away! Put down your blade! Lest you commit an act the divines forbade."

Tohro gives a disappointed huff, then flicks his foreleg again. The blade slides back into its sheath and out of sight. “First Treesap spots me, and now Stripes... I suppose I’m not as stealthy as I think I am.”

Xephyr shakes his head, but he keeps up a constant smile that makes Tohro sick. He conducts his words with his hoof as he walks about in a circle.

"You take me a fool, but I don't have the disease. It's common knowledge your kind nest in trees. By surprise, each other, that we have caught." He smiles playfuly. "But I would've lost had we have fought."

“Stealthy you were, my flying chum. I simply knew I’d meet you here, no need for the ho-hum. You caught me by surprise and caused me a scare. I tolerate such things every which-where.”

“Well, uh...” Tohro brushes at the grass awkwardly. It takes him a little longer to decipher the rhyme than he would prefer. “Thank you for the compliment.” He watches as Xephyr goes about his business. The zebra bard kneels down to a cowering brown rabbit and gives it a friendly pat, warranting a rapid tapping of its paw. The little thing then scurries off into the brush.

“The wildlife here is so very precious,” he says. “You might scare them away, with you being so vicious.”

Tohro shrugs and turns around. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to enjoy their company, then.” He looks up in a moment of clarity. “Also, I do not believe precious and vicious rhyme.”

Xephyr huffs quietly with a frustrated kick. “True poetry from the soul does not need rhyme. For life is too short to waste such time.”

Just as Tohro is about to go on his merry way to his destination, he thinks back to the zebra’s words. He turns back to him and says, “You mentioned that you were expecting me?” He smiles mischievously. “Have I a surprise party to look forward to?”

Xephyr searches under his tunic for something or other. He conjures up a scrap of parchment, with the wax broken off. “Perhaps it could be a surprise par-ty, if you are willing to cooperate with me.”

Ignoring the forced rhyme, Tohro takes the parchment and gives it a quick look over. While he doesn’t pick up on every word, the general idea of the letter is made clear enough; and it isn’t something he’s fond of having read. It would have been better to hear it from word of mouth, in his mind.

Dammit, Altair. He passes the parchment back to Xephyr. “So, the boss wishes for us to cooperate for this quest.”

“I have an arrangement with the Thieves Guild, you see,” says Xephyr, tucking the parchment away. “They hold a contract of protection over me. In exchange, I play an indirect part, in ensuring their missions do not end with a broken heart.”

Tohro internalizes his disapproval of cooperating with a zebra. Though despite the ire he takes with such an idea, he is able to conjure a few plans of how to put the zebra to good use. He gives Xephyr a brush of the snout, like a teacher would do to a pupil.

“Very well, then. I understand Altair is only looking out for our best interest, so I’ll have to thank him later.”

This brings Xephyr’s smile to an even wider state. He hops with glee. “I will put myself to use, strong and true! Just tell me what it is I may do for you.”

Tohro snickers at some illicit thoughts.

I miss servant boy.

While he would never be cruel enough to send the zebra bard into a deathly situation, taking the stealthy approach is far beyond him. But there are two undisputable talents that Xephyr has never failed to put to use whenever he’s come across a member of Dragonrein; playing beautiful music, and generally being a pest.

Tohro asks, “How do you say ‘live bait’ in Saddle Arabian?”

“Kuishi chakula...” Xephyr’s smile drops. “Oh, hii ni mbaya.”

“The wave is pushing me into the current again, I feel the blood in my veins!
Time is running free, I feel like letting go, nothing to slow me down!
Dragon inside of me, I feel it letting go, I can't hear, not a sound!
Flying into free, I hit the motherlode! I am the Dangan!”

Tohro turns his attention away from the dirt road and gives Xephyr an intense stare. “Is that entirely necessary?”

The bard doesn’t seem discouraged in the slightest, and it takes an awful lot of willpower for Tohro to not admit that the song has grown on him.

It certainly made for a memorable dance with Caro. He feels a twinge of nostalgia. If that was the last dance I’ll ever have with him... He expunges any thought of never seeing his friend again. He can’t bear such an idea. Which it wasn’t, I’m certain. Still, Xephyr certainly made it memorable. He peeks at the zebra again, then sighs, ruffling the grass he lays in. “So...” he begins. “What does it mean? That word, 'Dangan.'”

Xephyr laughs heartily and stands. As a bard, such a story must be told with dramatic flairs and jumps. Tohro rolls onto his side, preparing himself for a show.

“It was the name of a Saddle Arabian pony of times of old. He was kind, yet cunning. Humble, yet bold. He slayed the chimerae of the desert sands, allowing the natives sanctuary across the land. Giving his fortunes to the unfortunate ones, yet never wanted for shelter, or...” The zebra snickers. “Fun.”

Tohro can’t help but feel a tad jealous of this Dangan, assuming that fellow’s definition of fun was in tangent with his. No doubt a warrior like him had a few saucy admirers...

“He sounds like the best of Dragonrein all rolled into one. A tad difficult to believe such a perfect hero existed.”

“He did exist, until his peaceful passing. His legacy in Saddle Arabia is everlasting. His name became more than his own, a title to those with great heroics shown.”

Tohro nods. “And that’s how Dangan’s name falls into the song. Anyone can be deemed worthy of that title if they fit the role well enough?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I see.” The pegasus weighs his thoughts on that. Dangan didn’t want for comfort, and this zebra certainly doesn’t want for interesting stories. I should listen to him more often. He nearly slaps himself for thinking that, but he prefers to keep his presence to a minimum. He only lets Xephyr sing and talk loudly because that one can afford to be caught unawares. A new thought crosses his mind.

“Do you consider Caro and me to be Dangan?”

“You, dear Tohro, possess inner demons and much desire. A soldier without an army, a soldier for hire. You should not want for pay or servitude, for Dangan did what he pleased for the greater good.”

Tohro nearly stands, forgetting his immediate objective for a moment.“Soldier without an army? But I—”

“And Caro, you see, he lives for the fight,” Xephyr interrupts. “But he sees justice in shades of black and white. Dangan did what he felt was for everypony’s best, while Caro believes all evil should be put to rest. In killing the evil, he believes problems will halt. But sometimes you wind up with a wound full of salt.”

Tohro’s previous sentence goes unfinished.

“This... isn’t... funny...”

“Lots of things aren’t funny.”

He remembers the absolute torture subjected to Pyro and Ember. His concern has only been opened further ever since his discovery of a dead preacher in the outskirts of Trottingham.

Caro had no reason to kill the preacher other than him being a nuisance. I dread the day he axes a pony simply for sneezing in his presence.

"Okay, I'll give you that one. But what of you claiming me to be a soldier without an army? I’m of the Imperial Legion now." He gestures to his eye.

Xephyr seems amused at that more than anything. “A soldier is a soldier, no matter the cause they fight. A name for yourself is lost in the plight.”

That’s enough to strike Tohro where it hurts. Every thought of being associated with the Blackwings brings pain to his eye and his heart. He doesn’t hesitate to act on that pain. He grabs Xephyr by the foreleg and brings him down with force.

Despite that, the zebra still seems somewhat amused, if not a little scared and surprised. “Please, friend, there’s no need to harm me! I try to enlighten to what one cannot see!"

“You’re calling me a drone, Stripes?” Tohro has no intention of murdering Xephyr. That would make matters far more complicated than they need to be. “Shokenda took my dream and crushed it like an ant! But, you know something? I can still fly. So long as that hag dies, I’ll be satisfied.”

Xephyr is very content for having a pegasus of superior size pinning him to the dirt. “If I may be so bold as to say, your ambition might bring you only dismay. You should also be aware, as they say, a caravan is now coming our way.”

Tohro presses an ear to the ground. He can hear the sounds of cart wheels upon dirt and stone growing louder by the moment. Xephyr goes free from his intimidating grasp, and while he recovers, the pegasus begins to reflect on exactly why he’s so passionate about putting Shokenda to her grave, and what exactly his prerogative should be.

I’m turning into some sort of deranged sociopath on a vengeance streak... Sweet Divines! Caro has rubbed off on me! Yet, I have no quarrel with the Blackwings anymore, just Shokenda. The only reason I participated in the battle of Trottingham was to keep my friends alive. I’m not fretting over a few former allies bleeding out. I’m far better off free of their ranks of violence and debauchery and sex... and... alcohol... He pauses and blinks. Though the fact that he still gets some on the side on his own means is motivation enough. He returns to his stealthy crouch and begins his crawl through the tall grass.

“You know what to do, Xephyr.” He then pauses to shoot another angry glare. “And, just for future reference, we are not friends.”

And yet, that does nothing to damper the spirits of the perpetually happy zebra bard, who is smiling like he knows Tohro to be a liar. He swings his lute around his shoulder, gives a triumphant nicker, and leaps forward. He slides down the slope and drifts to a stop as the caravan rounds the corner.

He mutters to himself, “Know what to do, I know that well. I will give them a show, and he will give them hell.” He looks about for a good enough place to work his magic. A large stone left on the side of the road catches his fancy. With difficulty, he makes use of his scrawny muscles in his one free foreleg and barrel, shoving the stone into the center of the road. He takes a seat, crosses his hind legs, puts on a look that boasts he claims ownership of the entire road, and begins to strum his lute, though he waits on performing an actual song.

The caravan’s single cart isn’t anything extraordinary, being of simple wooden design with a fur tarp. But Tohro has identified it as the one he’s been seeking, based on the appearance of the earthwalker stallions pulling the wagon. Altair had given him a simple description of bright grey coats and violet manes.

I suppose those two are related in some way, he thinks, before returning to his previous internal monologue.

I know I have killed in the past for stupid reasons. Potential conspirators against the Blackwings always got their ‘just dues’ in the end. I’m not going to pretend getting the boot has absolved me of those murders, but it’s not healthy for me to dwell on them. At least I know what I’ve done wrong, and I had a genuine reason at the time. Caro has no reason. He murders for too little because of too little, and he’ll only end up making matters worse if he keeps that up. Divines damn it.

Aside from the cart, there are surrounding ponies, most of them unicorns, and two pegasi resting on top. But Tohro’s key to success lies in that they’re all looking forward, and there’s a certain zebra there strumming his lute to distract them.

“And what, pray tell, is this?” asks one of the pulling earthwalkers. He sounds irritated beyond reasoning, but clearly Xephyr’s smile can’t tell. “I daresay we’ve had quite enough of you striped mongrels today. If you would step aside, maybe we’ll only rough you up a little on our way out. No promises, though.”

One of the pegasi agrees. “Aye! Bugger off!”

Xephyr simply switches which hind leg is crossing which, giving another strum of the strings. “Cheer up, cheer up, you pony folk! I was simply wondering if you wanted to hear a joke?”

“We’re lookin’ at one!” says a unicorn mare, garnering laughter from her peers. The cackles are just insulting. Even Tohro feels hurt by that one. But he only hears so little. He begins to retreat back into his mind around the time they start throwing petty insults towards the zebra’s way.

I have a legitimate reason for wishing Shokenda dead! She ruined my dream of a better Equestria through the Blackwings. That was all I had, at least until I met Caro. I suppose I have Shokenda to thank for him and I meeting, but the fact still remains; she killed my dream! What did she do to Caro? She wanted to use him as an asset. I can understand his ire with that, but is that any decent reason to want her dead? Then again, he has seen her do some awful things. Bloody hell, he could want her dead for what she did to me. That’s romantic!

The caravan’s escorts are all well and distracted with Xephyr, especially when he begins to play a delightfully enraging number, which is slow, yet humorously sung.

“Roses are red, a grand crimson hue, and when you looked at me, you were too!
Your brain must be extremely small, it rarely gets much use at all.
Thinking’s not your cup of tea and you’d rather stroke your vanity!”

“That hardly rhymes!” A unicorn colt abandons his position from behind the cart, leaving a critical opening. Like a hole in a soldier’s armor, Tohro immediately seizes the opportunity, and with large steps and silent flaps, flies right under the escorts’ detection. He lands just behind another unicorn.

This one could be a nuisance.

He reaches a hoof into his pouch and pulls out a small cloth. While not very impressive at first glance, the cloth has been coated in a sleeping draught. Simple, yet powerful. It could cause a full grown minotaur hours of dreamless sleep. Tohro sneaks around the side of the unicorn and forces the cloth over his muzzle. His short, muffled shout is unheard amongst Xephyr’s badgering.

“The intellect of you folk goes beyond moronic infinity!
If there is one valuable thing you possess, I like to call it virginity.”

“That’s it!” Both of the earthwalker stallions throw off their harnesses, leaving them free to charge Xephyr. “Insulting honest traders? You’re going to bleed!”

“You’re bold,” says the zebra. He takes advantage of one of the earthwalkers’ momentum by sticking his hind leg out. The poor fool ends up tripping and faulting his muzzle into the dirt. “But threats of death have grown most old.”

Good work, Stripes, keep talking. Tohro pauses, surprised he actually thought that.

Now the other earthwalker is on his side with splinters of wood riddling his face, and the bard responsible simply lays his damaged lute aside. He takes into account the furious, violent scowls of the escorts left standing. All of them see fit to tear him limb from limb, an idea he’s not too fond of. He gives them all a friendly wave and runs for dear life, away from Tohro, who opens the flaps to the interior of the cart.

The contents stored within aren’t exactly standard fare for independent traders. The weapon rack is decorated with exotic weapons; axes with two handles, curved blades imprinted with tribal marks, and one of them is hard to comprehend, being shaped like a large ring. How a non-unicorn would wield it without seriously cutting themselves is beyond him.

Entire bags dedicated to uncanny potions, grains and herbs are stacked to the roof. All imprinted with zanzebrian symbols.

“Just as Altair thought,” Tohro said to himself. “Somepony’s been abducting zebra caravans.”

“You are thief, but not caravan thief?” A throaty, heavily accented voice calls out to Tohro.

He turns around to see a homely, scrawny looking zebra, bound by enchanted ropes and a collar. He seems unusually calm about it. Tohro begins to wonder if indifference is a common zebra trait.

“Uh, hello,” he says, approaching the captive. “I believe I can pick the lock on the collar and unbolt you from the cart, but you’ll be bound by the ropes until the spell wears off.” He turns his eyes to his primary objective, the Zanzebra loot. “But first, I need to recapture this freight.”

“Zebra will wait,” says the captive. He looks off into the distance to occupy himself. Tohro finds himself admiring such patience.

Tohro pulls his bag of holding wide open to fit in the many swords, gems, and pouches of miscellaneous goods inside the magic portal. By the time he slides in the last weapon, a notched scimitar, the bag has become quite the burden. Flying will prove difficult until he returns to Baltimare, but he figures he can catch a ride with a caravan that is not stolen property.

Though he should be uneasy about the sheer flawlessness of this quest, he allows himself time to dwell on something that’s loomed in the farthest reaches of his mind, which comes forth when he looks upon the content captive zebra again. It reminds him of a certain Blackwing he used to work with, and what a sorry state she must be in.

Poor Jade, he remorsefully thinks. He’s known for a long time, that regardless of his rejection from the Blackwings, he will save her from Imperial imprisonment, just out of sentiment alone. He curses not being able to ask Tangerine for a favor anymore.

I'll save her somehow. Jade’s too important to me to let factions keep us apart.

With that sentiment, he glances over to the captive zebra. “How did you end up in this predicament?”

“Zebra caravan captured by petty ponies,” he says, damn near emotionless. Or at least stoic, like a hardened veteran. “Zebra clan killed and left in ditch. Zebra only one who survive.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tohro retrieves a single lockpick between his teeth, fully intent on setting the poor fellow free, but then something stops him. A part of himself he hoped to keep buried for the better part of this mission. His internal distrust of zebrakind comes to a head when he takes a glance at the recaptured stock.

“Your clan didn’t steal these items, right?”

“Zebra’s hooves are clean,” says the captive sternly. There’s an edge to his voice that cuts like one of those curved blades, causing Tohro to strike his own muzzle out of embarrassment.

Tohro holds out a forehoof and waves it apologetically. “That was unwarranted, I’m sorry.” He mutters more apologies under his breath as he moves behind the captive and begins working the lock on the collar. The lock is of a finer design than most, but still relatively easy work, only breaking two of Tohro’s picks.

“Hate for zebra is common,” says the captive. “Do not feel ashamed.”

“Yes, but if there’s to be progress in this kingdom, I can’t afford to let my bias get in the way. I shouldn’t feel like this.” Tohro reaches around the zebra’s barrel somewhat hesitantly, and helps the poor soul to his hooves. “Come along.”

The combined weight of the retaken stock and the bound zebra makes even a simple flutter a sweat worthy ordeal. Tohro has to bow his head and catch his breath after hopping off the cart, garnering a concerned look from his charge.

“Zebra will take burden off pony’s hooves,” says the former captive.

While rubbing his shoulder, which has been made sore from the heavy bags, Tohro weighs his options. Altair’s orders make him refuse.

“I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve been through enough as is, and besides, I’m supposed to bring this to...” He pauses.

Fool! The whole point of thievery is stealth! Don’t go and reveal their location!

He corrects his words. “I’m supposed to bring this back.”

“Zebra’s caravan is victim.” The zebra gestures to the goods. “Zebra’s merchandise. Pony takes, pony steals. Zebra chases with a rusty knife.”

Go figure, threatening me with such petty... Tohro shakes his head in shame for himself. The solution is right in front of his face, and he smiles pathetically at not realizing such a thing. Of course, the zebra’s brutal honesty forces his hoof. He slides the bag over to his acquaintance, who hoists it onto his back with little difficulty.

“I’m sure my superiors will approve of this. Cutting out the long process of returning this to your people is a much more efficient option.”

The zebra nods in response. “Pony makes smart decision. Zebra leaves.”

Thus, Tohro is left alone with a much lighter load and an empty, abandoned cart. He steals a glance at the sleeping pony. That draught was more powerful than I thought. He wonders if he should finish the job. He shakes his head. He figures it would be better to see the look on his face when wakes up.

Another quest for Altair and the Thieves Guild completed. Tohro’s mind is on other matters, though.

“See?” he says to himself, now that anyone who may take offense is out of earshot. “Zebras aren’t all bad. Why the hell do you jump to conclusions like a corrupt guard? You are better than that, Tohro Blackwing!” He hopes nopony is around to see him slap himself in the face again. “I’m going to lose my looks at this rate...”

He feels a tap on his wither, and turns to see that somepony, or rather, some zebra, did see him abusing his face.

“Hello, Stripes,” he says with anguish.

Xephyr seems beyond amused, despite the blood on his face and a few cuts across his ears. He seems to have lost some skin, along with a few earrings, during his daring run from the caravan robbers.

Tohro waves him off and starts walking along the trail. He’s not sure if it leads to Baltimare, but he’s in no rush to care.

“Our mission is well and over. You can get out of here.”

Please do, before I say something I regret.

“And where will you go? If I may know.”

Wander about, probably take a nap, wait for orders from the Imperial Legion,. No doubt they’ll simply want me to pull a patrol shift. Once that’s all well and done, I’ll drink myself into a stupor at the Broken Saddle waiting for a certain somepony to walk through those doors...

“Dammit, where the hell are you?!” Tohro shouts to the mountains.

“I’m right here, very near,” says Xephyr, massaging his violated ears. “And your behavior is certainly most queer.”

“I... haven’t been myself.”

“That much indeed is very clear. I’d expect you to be cracking jokes without any fear.”

Tohro lets out a hollow chuckle. I’m not, because the one pony I want to crack jokes with isn’t here right now.

He silently continues his melancholic trot. Xephyr just keeps following, much to the confuddled pegasus’ disbelief. Thankfully the bard respects his desire for the sounds of rustling leaves and grass, along with the occasional chirp of birds, and nothing more. Despite Xephyr's happiness, Tohro can't help but notice how unnatural it is to not have his rhyming dialogue or jaunty tunes accompanying that smile.

Figuring the silence unbearable without Xephyr, Tohro clears his throat. "It is much too quiet and I can't uh..." He trails off. "Deny it! Yeah! And uh... you're starting to worry me, so please um... Yeah, I’m horrendous at this."

It only serves to make Xephyr’s lips curl even more. “You attempt to amuse is welcome yet you have much to learn, but for your all you efforts, my thanks you have earned. Aramis and Ingramm, the Divines of entertainment and song, shall never steer the musical ones wrong.” He smiles. "Though you do have a divine voice."

Tohro scoffs at such a sentiment. “I doubt they’d any reason to help me. I don’t have any Divines on my side. Not Epona, not Gammon, hell, I’d even take Wanderer. A god of literature is better than nothing, right?”

Maybe I could pray to Princess Celina? he ponders.

“Wanderer, I can’t say I worship him,” says Xephyr. “Knowledge of pony text isn’t a lake in which I swim.”

“Figures...” Tohro nickers.

The zebra bard casts him a slightly less amused glare.

Tohro’s eyes widen at realizing he just delved back into racism, and he curses under his breath for that. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t think like such a shallow minded fool, but I can’t escape what... I mean, my... It’s...”

He expects Xephyr to depart right away and never speak to him again. In fact, he hopes for such a thing, so he may be taught a lesson.

I don’t deserve such a chipper bard.

Yet, he remains, and Tohro is all the more distraught for it, letting long untapped emotions come to the surface. He stomps towards Xephyr and shouts, “Thirty-seven bits, Stripes!”

Xephyr puts on a face of confusion. He probably can’t put it into rhyme fast enough.

Tohro is forced to elaborate. He trots back and forth in indiscriminate directions, heavily breathing as he tries to bring about the right words.

“It was... damn, I don’t know how many years ago. I was a child, living in Fillydelphia. My parents and I, we had a pretty comfortable life, for peasants. Sure, it was cold as hell, and half the city was a slum at the time, but it was my slum! I loved it there. I loved my parents, I loved my crummy old shack, I loved my collection of wing blades...”

Seething, he points to somepony that isn’t there. “And then there’s these assholes! One day I’m just minding my own in the pub while my parents have themselves a shared drink to commemorate fifteen years of matrimony,” he imitates the act of drinking a shot, then tossing the nonexistent glass aside. “I could have said, ‘Hey, fellas, don’t drink that, because there’s these two zebra assholes who spiked the stuff with enough skeever venom to lock you both into comas for two weeks!’”

He slams his hoof into the ground. “And for what?! Their wallets! Those zebra thugs poisoned my ma and pa for thirty-seven bits! Sure, there was justice done. Those bastards were given the gallows, but what difference did it make? Just as Pa woke up from his coma, he started to choke and writhe in agony. That coma was the only thing keeping him alive, and I was the last pony he ever saw. I couldn’t hear his dying words. But the absolute worst part? Knowing I’d have to see Ma endure the same agony before death claimed her, and I couldn’t do anything. My parents’ lives were worth thirty-seven bits, Xephyr! How am I supposed to cope with that?!”

Tohro is purple with sadness and rage at two zebras he knows are long gone. He stares Xephyr down again.

“But I stayed with Ma! I never looked away. I was strong! I was a soldier! And even when I was alone, I stayed strong! And when Shokenda rose to power, I didn’t approach her to beg for guidance! She chose me! Because I’m strong! I’m... I’m...”

Much like the twig beneath his hooves, Tohro snaps. He grimaces and tries his hardest to block out tears of the past. He fails.

“I’m not strong.”

Xephyr’s touch upon his hooves makes him flinch at first, but he accepts as the bard sooths the still sore wounds with his voice. "I am glad to say you are not wrong. I’ve known you to be strong and for quite long. But perhaps, in the saying that I prefer, you’re just not as strong as you thought you were.”

Tohro doesn’t resist as Xephyr removes one of his gauntlets, then moves his eye incredibly close to the hoof he cradles in his own.

“What are you...”

“I plead, let me read.”

Tohro’s seen this before, from a distance. “Hoof reading? So, you’re a gypsy and a bard?”

“It’s a hobby, more than a job, but I can well identify if you’re a warrior or a slob.” The zebra’s eyes continue to travel along the hoof. “I see you are willing to accept love, and you have a jesting personality, that fits you like a glove. There’s depth within you beyond your coltwhorish way—”

“Excuse me?”

Xephyr gestures for Tohro to shut up. “—and I can see your dedication to a cause will never sway.”

Tohro always knew that about himself well enough since he joined the Blackwings, but to hear it so intimately known, just from reading his hoof, makes it seem new.

“No matter the cause, I follow through?”

Xephyr nods. “Whatever you wish to be true to.” He lets Tohro’s hoof go and slips the gauntlet back on.

Tohro attempts to fasten the buckles, but the leather keeps snagging on the metal. “Maybe I’m true to too many causes at the moment. Or maybe things are too good to be true.” He grimaces and stops trying with the buckles. “Damn. I’m in over my head...”

But it’s the sound of falling rain that brings his confused rant to an end. He can recognize the calls of Captain Gauntlet in the distance, giving orders to Imperial soldiers.

It’s just like old times. The commanding of a superior officer clears all other thoughts from Tohro’s mind. He removes his cowl to reveal a spiked blonde mane, adorned with an Imperial circlet.

“I may as well follow through on one of those causes.”

He looks to Xephyr, who seems keen to leave amongst the wet weather and hastening wind. “But not because of that gypsy fortune nonsense! I don’t cooperate with destiny.”

“I don’t criticize, in fact, I implore! Times are too chaotic to rely on such things anymore.” With a farewell salute, Xephyr turns and gallops down the trail with great speed.

“I should know,” says Tohro, more to himself than his departing friend. “Just a few months ago I thought I would be eternally loyal to Shokenda.” He looks to the mountains again, grits his teeth though his lips are curled in a smile, and he yells. “Damn you, Caro!”

~Tohro~

I could come up with at least a hundred reasons why I joined the Imperial Legion, and every day a different reason seems to be the best, or the worst. Today, of all days, the best reason seems to be so Dragonrein can gain an advantage through collateral spoils alone. I’m not afraid to admit that I’ve taken a few of the Legion’s rewards, and there seems to be no complaints from my fellow soldiers. Already I’ve procured a frigate’s worth of gold, and the armor isn’t too shabby, either. I prefer the Thieves Guild’s attire for its comfort, though.

Either way, I’m making a mint. When Dragonrein reunites, we won’t want for supplies. So why do I feel so empty?

Maybe I can ease my sorrow with Caro. He and I have that effect on each other, especially over a few dozen pints of mead.

Not one to walk in formation, I make my way between soldiers. A fair few scoff at me, simply for me being one of the new ‘children’ among their ranks. I suppose my lanky figure doesn’t allow for an intimidating soldier. Honestly, it’s the results that matter. In the end, I’m the superior. Soon, I may become Captain Tohro! Ha! I’ll have Gauntlet’s job by the end of the month!

Speak of Tartarus...

“Reporting for duty, Captain!” I say with enthusiasm. Gauntlet doesn’t look incredibly happy to see me but, at the same time, I sense he’ll be grateful for my assistance.

We, that is, me and my fellow soldiers, stand along the path on the outskirts of the woods, facing some decrepit stone steps that lead into a mossy cave. The stench of mildew is apparent even at a distance, only intensified further by the rain. What a stench! But it’s nothing compared to a summer weekend in Ivarstable, so I can stomach it.

“I’ve already relayed the information regarding this mission to the other soldiers,” Gauntlet tells me. “So I may as well keep this plain and simple.” He points to the cave. “Our unicorn scouts located a Hephaestus crafted weapon buried in an old shrine. While we are unsure on the details of said weapon, we have reason to believe the Blackwings are hunting it down as we speak. Our goal is to retrieve that weapon before anypony else does.”

“Yes, sir!” I say with a salute. The soldiers begin to move, and I make sure to take the lead.

Hephaestus weapons. Aside from Mjolnir, I’ve never had the luck to lay my eyes on any of the sort. If I could procure one for Dragonrein, well, that would be all kinds of fantastic. Of course, who will wield that weapon depends on what weapon it is. If it’s a knife or a crossbow, I’ll definitely take it for myself. However, a sword would definitely go to Caro, assuming the Greybeards haven’t given him one yet. If that’s the case, Rosemary could stand to try something other than that flamed falchion of hers. Last I saw her, it was beginning to wear out.

I’m the first to make it to the top of the stairs, even outrunning Gauntlet. He’s none too pleased about that.

“Need I remind you of your role here, Tohro Blackwing?” he says, putting particular emphasis on my surname.

“Why do you even keep that name, anyway?” asks a passing mare. “I would have dropped it upon gaining...” She’s looking at my left eye. “Uh, that.”

“This,” I say, pointing to the same eye, “is a reminder to me of what I left behind, and so is my title. I keep them to remind myself never to go back. We’ve been over this.” I grab ahold of my crossbow and sling it over my shoulder. “Now, come along. We have a weapon to yank.”

“Don’t exert authority you do not have,” advises Gauntlet as he approaches the entrance.

The other soldiers gather around, readying their swords. Their inventory is much less varied than the Blackwings. I feel like the odd one out, standing so informally, out of order, and, aside from the circlet, not wearing anything Imperial. No wonder they’re all staring at me.

Gauntlet clears his throat. “I would recommend you take point, Tohro. Scout inside and report any untoward activity you may encounter.”

“Yes, sir!” Never let it be said I am outright disrespectful. I’ll gladly follow such an order... stepping into a tight space... in the dark...

Yes sir.

Given my aforementioned mareish figure, this would be the most reliable option. So, without question, I tuck my wings in tight, crouch down and crawl inside.

Of course, this brings a fatal flaw to light... or lack thereof. It’s dark in here! Darker than I expected. Too dark!

“This... might have been a questionable idea,” I say to myself. I squat down onto my barrel and settle for small, gradual treads across the dirt and rock. The thickets of wallbound branches nick at my leather.

“What was a good idea was not changing into my Imperial gear... That would have been a little too clunky. I would have wound up stuck.” I only talk to keep calm despite the walls closing around me... and the constrictive branches... and the idea that the whole thing-by some odd unlucky roll of the dice of chaos-could collapse and threaten to end my life while the dark squeezes every last light of hope out of...

“Are you well down there?” asks one of the male soldiers.

“Y-yes. Absolutely peachy,” I lie.

It’s when the tight cave finally decides to yawn and allow me to stand that I take several breaths and wipe my brow clean of sweat. I’m going to have to bathe for hours to feel clean again, mentally and physically. I ruffle my feathers, noticing how muddled up they all are at this point. I suppose, upon his return, I could ask Caro for a preening. I smile at that goal. Cleaning wings is easier with a friend. Much more entertaining too.

Getting a bearing on my surroundings, I see that the cave makes much like an anthill, tunneling off into multiple directions. At least one of these paths will lead to the weapon.

I shout back up the narrow shaft. “Come on down, single file! This area is unoccupied!”

I wait for a minute or so, then the soldiers pour in one by one. I realize that the entrance wasn’t nearly as I tight as my mind made it out to be. Claustrophobia, much like Shokenda, is a foe that looms over me and neglects to ever relinquish its presence.

I can still feel a few beads of sweat forming, and I know why. To amend that, I pick up two rocks and strike them together beside a rusty old lamp, which lays abandoned in the dirt. It still has a decent supply of oil. It takes a few strikes, but I manage to light it and put the darkness at bay. The cave seems much more manageable now.

“Cena. Holon,” says Gauntlet as he examines the many branching pathways. He gives a commanding stare to the two unicorns of the group, both female. “Trace the openings of these paths and try to detect the weapon. I’d rather we not waddle about in this place for too long.”

“Yes sir,” says Cena. She steps forward somewhat slowly.

“Right away.” Holon leaps right to it, being much more enthusiastic. She lights up her horn and gives it a swish over the largest gap, then shakes her head. “Nothing here, Cap.”

Cena’s horn shines a bit brighter as she examines the smaller entrances. “I’ve got something, but it’s faint.”

“Keep searching, we’re on strict time,” says Gauntlet.

The two unicorns eventually come to the last two holes, which are on opposite sides of the room, and their horns shine with equal intensity. “Okay,” says Holon, “one of these two tunnels will lead us to the weapon.” She shrugs. “Or both will, if we’re lucky.”

“We’ll have to take precautions, then.” Gauntlet walks towards the leftmost entrance, while his eyes fall to me. He has a slight smirk. “Well, Tohro, if you wish to play leader, now could be your opportunity to impress me.” His expression then turns somewhat apologetic. “But, uh, I have no doubts you’ll do well. I mean that.”

He clears his throat and stomps his hoof, then resumes his orders. “Right. Holon, Cena, you follow Tohro down the other pathway.” The captain then separates the remaining twelve troops evenly with his hoof. “Seven of you come with me. The other five, follow them. If you encounter any Blackwings, well, you know what to do. Simply retrieve the weapon and leave as soon as possible. We’ll regroup outside.”

I climb onto the wooden bridge, getting a better glimpse at my surroundings. Three Blackwing pegasi stand at the ready up on a high ledge, all equipped with crossbows. If they detect us, they’ll shoot us down on sight. We also have a single earthwalker and unicorn rotating the central pillar that holds this bridge up.

I whisper commands to my soldiers as I equip my crossbow. Heh... my soldiers. This is just like way back when. I rather like being in a position of power once again, and the Legion doesn’t have as much attitude as the Blackwings when they’re on the job.

“On my mark, shoot the three archers. I’ll take the center.”

“Got it,” says the soldier on my right. He takes out his crossbow, which is of a much more royal design than my own, but I doubt it’s as modifiable. Accursed standard issue equipment. I’ll keep with my old favorite.

The left soldier is soon equipped, and the others are ready to go as well. The only ones without crossbows are Cena and Holon, on account of they can shoot fireballs. Why would they even bother with ranged weapons? There’s also another pegasus. He’ll be decent enough for dive bombing if matters get dicey. In the meantime, I can rely on the unicorns as backup rangers, just in case these five bolts miss.

I look down the sights and line up the head of the central archer just below the wooden reticle. I inhale. “Okay...” I purse my lips. “Shoot in three... two... one...” My hoof squeezes the trigger. “Now.”

Well, we’re partially successful. My bolt slips right by the ear of the center pegasus, clanking off the wall and landing broken beside him. The other two Blackwings aren’t quite as fortunate. The one on the left takes two bolts to the chest, between plates of armor. He falls off of his perch onto his face. Whether or not he’s dead, he’s definitely out of commission for a while. As for the one of the right, he reminds me very much of Ezio at this moment, with one bolt between his eyes. He falls back dead on the spot.

The one in the center jumps to action the instant blood is spilt. “Is someone there?!” he shouts.

A slight bit of panic overcomes me as I attempt to reload a bolt and fire upon him before he can raise any more of a ruckus, but the instant I pull the trigger again, the string snaps.

“Oh, son of a...” I hiss under my breath. I toss the piece of junk aside. It’s not even worth getting fixed at this point. I turn to the pegasus soldier behind me. “Magic is too conspicuous. Snatch him up and bring him here before we’re called out.”

“Right away.” He leaps over me and my line of archers to sweep the ground, wheel around back and grapple the survivor. He holds one foreleg around his chest and the other over his mouth to muffle the shouting. The Imperial pegasus touches down, drops the Blackwing, and, still covering his mouth, gestures to me. I flick my foreleg and reveal the hidden blade, with which I jump forward and shove into the Blackwing’s throat. He squirms for a moment, then he bleeds out.

“That might just be the highlight of my day,” I say. This is getting easier.

The other two below us, the earthwalker and unicorn, have been alerted to our presence. They raise their voices. “The Imperial bastards are here! Arm yourself!” says the unicorn. He grabs his sword, which is wreathed in electric sparks. The earthwalker also comes into view, and her buster blade is absolutely enormous. Not to mention double edged, meaning we’re in for a world of hurt no matter how she swings. I make a note to take it for myself when we finish, but then I realize that it won’t even fit in my bag.

The unicorn floats up to us in a single bound, then rains down a torrent of plasma. I grunt as the burning drops singe my cheeks and neck. I wipe them off, then ready my hidden blade again. But this one has tenacity. She blinks out of sight in mid-air, then reappears behind me. My wings go numb as she strikes me in the small of my back with her horn, and I definitely do not enjoy the moment of airborne helplessness. The numbness only lasts long enough for me to feel sore across my entire body when I collide with the stone floor. A test flap of my wings confirms I’m back in the game... albeit with a lot more throbbing pain.

That’s when I see a soldier drop next to me, a gash going right through his chest. His blood drenches the floor, and he gives one last breath before his head hangs limp.

“Ah, damn...” I look up at the ensuing mayhem on the bridge. The buster wielder has just knocked another soldier off the bridge, sending him into the wall. It’s almost comical, aside from the sound of bones snapping. This mare, she must practice a ludicrous training regiment to have such power.

I fly back up, landing between my fellow soldiers and the buster mare. “Hey...” I whisper to her, keeping track of her hooves as she steps forward. “Mine’s bigger.”

She lets out a scream and lunges. I shoot forward and slide underneath, and she ends up bringing her sword down on the bridge. The whole thing shakes from the impact, and only the pegasus kid and I aren’t affected, since we take flight. This gives me an idea.

“In tangent!” I yell.

The kid salutes. “Sir!”

While the mare recovers from her misfired swing, the kid dives so he’s just underneath her head. He brings his steel cuffed hoof into her jaw with an uppercut, then follows up with a buck to her exposed stomach. She drops her sword.

I draw two wing blades. The moment she hits the ground, I land right on top of her before she can stand. She bucks at me, scraping at my leather, but I never lose my perch. I cross my hind legs and take on a condescending tone.

“Got any plans this evening?”

She growls at me like some sort of feral beast. “Get bent!”

“I was hoping to. But you’re clearly not my type.” I bring the wing blades to her throat and slash in opposite directions. She’s not going to last much longer. I just try to ignore the gurgling.

That just leaves the warrior-mage. I leap off of my dying foe and about face, standing on my hind legs and holding my wing blades at the ready. I twirl them around for the hell of it.

The warrior-mage has already knocked out one of my soldiers. She captures another in a headlock and puts him out cold with a strike to his neck. She’s wicked fast, damn near a blur.

“That’s enough!” I shout. I throw one of the wing blades, aiming for her legs, but she sidesteps it like she saw it coming a mile away.

All that remains is one more earthwalker soldier, Holon and Cena, and that pegasus kid. Versus this lone mare, I think we can manage. My two unicorns line up side by side and shoot rapid fire bolts at the warrior-mage, who actually manages to deflect them by levitating her blade in circles.

“What is she, psychic?!” shouts the kid.

Well, she is a unicorn. Who's to say she isn't?

The kid's shuffling his hooves, trying to catch an opening. He’s certainly zealous.

Without warning, the mare teleports forward and brings both of her hooves down on Holon and Cena’s heads. They’re not unconscious, but they’re can't fight back on their stomachs. Now is the kid’s time to shine. He draws his sword between his teeth, flapping his wings.

“In regards to your question...” The warrior-mage hits the ground running. The kid raises his sword... no, he holds it out to his side like a dumbass. I’m about to scream, ‘You’re wide open, mate!’ but my voice is only so fast.

The mare sidesteps with her blade brandished, cutting clean through both of the kid’s wings. They fall limp at his sides. He only hesitates a moment before he screams. She grapples his head with one hoof, forces him around and pierces his chest.

She’s not even facing him when she says, “...I’m not psychic. I’m just better than you.” The kid isn’t screaming anymore.

I feel numb again. “You...!” I still have one wing blade on hoof, and that bitch has just turned my way. I’ve got her now. I make this throw count. It lands right through her foreleg, rendering her tense and motionless, two things one can’t afford to be on the battlefield. Not when two angry mares are standing there with their horns alight.

Both of Holon and Cena’s auras wrap around the bitch and thrash her around like a spice shaker. Their combined strength allows them to toss her high into the air. Cena shoots a beam of cold light from her horn, instantly encasing the bitch in ice. Holon then fires off small sparks that stop around the ice cluster. The cluster then explodes, shattering into large and small chunks alike. In the process, so does the bitch, and thus the kid is avenged.

It’s an unusual concept, vengeance. To me, it’s a passive act. If you take out a threat that did in a fellow soldier, then you’ve done a service. That earns you a pat on the back, in my book. However, vengeance should not be something pursued or obsessed over. It’s not healthy. I never found the zebras who killed my parents, and I'm content with that.

That is what separates me from Caro, in this case. He actively sought out and murdered those Imperials for vengeance over the innocence of a mare he never knew. I was mad for Jade too. Hell, I’m still mad. But Caro became so obsessed with the act of killing her attackers, what happened to Jade became unimportant.

When I look at Holon and Cena doing everything they can to save the kid, I know what’s truly important when these things happen; something is lost, and there’s no means of getting it back.

“Any last words, kid? Regrets? Confessions?” I say. I’ve been in this situation too often to cry, but that doesn’t change that I feel like shit right now. This could have been avoided.

“Nah...” He says. He spits a little bit of blood and wipes it off. “To be honest... rather die than live without wings... That ain’t livin’...” He sighs, followed by more coughing. “Hey... you did good, sir... you deserve to be a captain...” There’s a pause. “Nah. General. Yeah... you’re a general...”

“That’s... quite possibly the nicest thing anypony’s ever said to me.” I’m at a loss for any more words.

“Happy... dying to serve you...” He gives a shaky yet confident salute before he loses that last light in his eyes. I’ll never forget that sight, I promise myself that much.

Holon and Cena touch their hooves together and simultaneously close the kid’s eyes. They both plant a kiss on his forehead before leaving his corpse be.

“What was his name?” I ask.

“Sawl,” says Holon. She wraps a comforting foreleg around the sniffling Cena and nuzzles her. “It’s okay... it’s going to be fine...”

“Hate to feel like I’m prying, but... Were you close?”

“H-he was our coltfriend,” mutters Cena. Her horn sparks as she slams her hoof down. “Damn those Blackwings! What do they have to gain? What...” She descents into intelligible blubbering.

“I, uh... I used to think they wanted a better Equestria,” I say. “But now I don’t truly know for sure. They’re not the Blackwings I once served.”

“I’m glad you joined the right side, sir,” says Holon. She gives me a supportive pat on the shoulder. “Cena and I, we nearly joined them, but Sawl convinced us otherwise. That’s how we became close. I’d say we owe a lot to him.”

Seeing Cena in tears, dwelling over Sawl’s corpse, I can tell she has no more drive within her to fight. Suddenly I’m seeing a far more personal side to the Imperials that I couldn’t see as a Blackwing. Maybe the Imperial Legion has changed.

Perhaps I’ve changed.

The knocked out soldiers are waking up now, and they’ll have injuries to tend to as well. The only one who seems to be in any sort of fighting shape is me. This does not bode well.

Cena doubles over as her horn comes alight, almost blindingly. I have to avert my eyes for a moment.

“Woah! What’s wrong?”

She looks away from Sawl for the first time in several minutes to show me her glazed eyes. “Sir, I can feel the weapon! It’s not far from here. We can grab it before the Blackwings and get out of here!”

Nothing in the world would make me happier. Except maybe Caro and the others. I’m about to order all present and accounted for ahead, but a certain shiver up my spine stays my hoof.

“You’re such a child, my dearest Tohro, but you’re a stallion in my eyes... Can you feel me? Do not worry, I will never leave you. You’re mine, Tohro...”

“Cena? Do you sense anything else? Inconsistencies? Other sources of magic?”

Cena looks puzzled. She touches her hoof to her horn. “No, I—” Her eyes widen even more. “Wait, there’s something. Bloody hell, it’s... terrifying.” She looks fit to retch. “It’s her."

Every soldier in the room takes a step backwards, and once again, I’m the odd one out, not feeling any more dread than I did before.

I shake my head. “Let’s face it, troops. Nopony here wants to fight Shokenda Bla—”

Cena clasps her hooves to her ears. “DON’T SAY THAT NAME! DON’T SAY THA—”

“I WILL SAY HER NAME BECAUSE I AM NOT AFRAID OF HER!” That snaps her out of her tears. She’s utterly speechless. I must be more of a general than I thought I was. I look to all of the other soldiers, who seem just as scared of me as the idea of fighting Shokenda. But I’m not scared.

“In just a few moments, I went from a mere soldier to a respected position of authority over all of you. That means what I say goes, right?”

They all nod, dreading what they think I’m going to say.

“That is why I order you all to stay here. I will not send you into the field of danger. I’m not a fool. I know Shokenda, and I know none of you could even touch her. She’ll just kill you on sight. But even if you were to come with me, she’d leave me alive, because she wants me that way.”

“W-why?” asks Cena.

“Because for just a moment, I didn’t acknowledge her as a god. And she won’t kill me until I break. But I’m not going to.” A certain turquoise earthwalker enters my thoughts. I feel a bit more relaxed, but no less driven. “I... Yeah, I have something better worth fighting for.”

I put my soldier face back on. “Nopony else dies on my watch today. Do what you will and get the hell out. Tell Gauntlet two things; I got separated from the rest of you,” I put on a smirk, “and I’m gonna have his job!”

“Thank y-you... sir...” mutters Cena. She stands tall and salutes me, blinking out the rest of her tears. The other soldiers follow suit. It’s as if I’m channeling their strength and will. This is something I’ve felt before, but it’s been a long time. Hell, it feels even better now, because these soldiers are more united than any set of Blackwings.

“Any other words of wisdom, sir?” asks Holon.

I turn around and begin my trek through the last stretch of the cave. “Anypony who follows me gets court martialed!”

I have no doubt in my mind that this will not be Shokenda’s final battle. I know I’m not strong enough to kill her. I have a looming dread that I won’t even wound her. Which is a shame. Caro told me she bleeds gold. I wonder if he wasn’t just seeing things in his fit of rage? Either way, I can only hope I’ll be able to see whether or not it’s true for myself.

The cavern is opening up even further now. The stone path is diminishing, becoming nothing but dirt. My echoing hoofsteps turn into muffled crunches against the moist soil. I also hear running water in the distance. Water always makes any battle worth watching. And I’ll be the center of attention for tonight’s duel.

I’m composed, calm, a tad concerned, but by no means afraid. I’m not afraid of pain, especially when I know Shokenda is not going to kill me. I’d rather make a statement to her; that I will not lay down for her just because she’s high and mighty.

“You may call yourself a god, but in my eyes you’re nothing more than an immature child swinging about her father’s sword!”

I yell that as I come out into the clearing. Yes, this is truly a beautiful place for a duel. There’s a large pond of luminescent water surrounding a vegetation heavy island. There, I see Shokenda and seven heavily fortified pegasi. Pegasi were the first to form the Blackwings, so it figures she favors them as personal bodyguards. Though it’s not as if she needs them. They all hover about Shokenda, indifferent to the rain falling from the large opening in the ceiling.

“Your opinion has been noted, Tohro.” She steps forward from her guards, signaling for them to stay there. “Tell me, why is it you’re here?”

“A lot of reasons.” I’m not about to fall into her mind games by dealing in absolutes. Sure, I want to fight her, but there’s more to life than vengeance for a broken dream. I take sight of the weapon upon the stone slab, which is embedded into the island. It’s a sword. I’m not the most proficient in such types, but if it’s a Hephaestus weapon, I’m sure it would serve me well. If only I were able to retrieve it...

“How much will you suffer before you admit I cannot be killed?” Shokenda says, taking a few steps into the water. It turns gold around her hooves, drawing my gaze, but I regain my focus quickly.

I try to quote Hevnodiin. He made a rather intimidating boast to Caro that I like. “Perhaps I can do more than kill you. I can hurt you.” It sounded far more terrifying coming out of a dragon’s mouth.

Shokenda seems to agree, chuckling where she stands despite having an expressionless face.“You’ve definitely lost that spark that made me take you to bed. You’re not as refined, or, well, noble

I step into the water as well, advancing towards her. “Nobility is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Like a true Imperial. You lose all passion for the fires of war in a mad struggle of obedience. How low have you sunk? Serving false gods like that queen and her sordid excuse for a throne... Who else is there? Oh, yes. That lowly bird-thief who weakly justifies petty crimes... Or, better yet, your ragged group of dragon chasers, all lead by one naked, bloodshot excuse of a stallion...”

I black out for only an instant, and when I come back, I’m holding my hidden blade to Shokenda’s throat. Her guards have all drawn their weapons, but she waves them off, merely brushing my other hoof from her ursa fur cloak. My bladed hoof still remains on her.

“You do not talk about him like that,” I say, utterly seething.

“Have I struck a nerve?”

“Yes, Caro can be an idiot. He’s done some stupid, sometimes downright awful things. But I’m not willing to give up on him. He’s my best friend, and I can’t very well let him be slandered by somepony like you! You might be an alicorn, and you may know a Thu’um or two, and you may be indestructible, but you do not, I repeat! You do not! Hurt! My! Friends!”

In conjunction with my last word, I thrust the hidden blade into her throat. I expect to be thrown off of her by a diamond strength coat, but imagine my shock when I manage to pierce her skin.

Gold blood. I flick it off the blade as Shokenda leaps away from me, with the water splashing at her coat. She’s touchable. By liquid, and by me. It makes me laugh. “All this time I questioned Caro's love for bloody justice, and I would do what he’s done, but I think I know him more than ever... I have so much hate for you, and to feel it all come out into one raging burst of adrenaline and passion... It's beautiful. It's like fucking. Only better.”

Shokenda merely laughs, but I have a feeling if she could convey emotions normally, she’d appear afraid. "Clearly. I've only seen that face you wear now once before. We were bedfellows then. Oh, you were so tiny. Breakable. It's impressive to see you like this. It's a shame you lost all loyalty to me."

She casts her hoof out, and in a flash, her pegasus guards all swarm around me and lock me in place, holding spears to every possible fatal region on my body.

That’s it. Fuck it all. I don’t care if I can’t kill her. I’m going to make her suffer. "You've had this coming a long time, ever since you told me to kill Shae and Tangerine. No one hurts my friends. It's a worse sin to ask me to kill them myself. I know I'll be doing Equestria a favor if I end this all. Now.

My wings flare, kicking up enough dust to cause the guards to stumble blindly. I quickly take flight, spears slicing blindly at my leather and skin as the warm rain washes away any fresh blood. My rage makes me blind to pain. All that matters is right in front of me. I need that weapon.

If it was truly crafted by Hephestus, this should be a cinch. I see other pegasi in hot pursuit, and they quickly show they're faster. One takes a swing with his spear, slicing through my fetlock. I bite back the pain and hit the ground rolling.

Caro isn't the only one who enjoys an adrenaline rush. I've been in bed with that mistress far more often. Everything is in slow motion as I notice the stone slab. Inscribed upon it with more recent writing is the word ‘Muramasa.’ The weapon itself, a katana, is sunk into the slab, just like out of an old pony tale. Its scabbard lies next to the stone.

I don't hesitate to grab the hilt in my teeth, the diamond pattern rough against my tongue as I wrench it free from the stone. The blade is black as night and the hilt glitters with encrusted fire rubies. Truly a work of art. I look over it, it comes alight with a hellish red glow, and I swear I can hear it... growling. In my ears.

"What can I do for you?" I ask it.

The growling continues. I feel a creeping sense of fear rising along my spine as I grip the hilt... I like it. My gaze snaps to the sky as the Blackwing comes closer.

Muramasa feels lighter than air as I swing it blindly at the charging pegasus. Unlike Mjolnir, there is no resistance. Just a stunted warcry and a shower of blood. I open my eyes and see the twitching headless corpse before me, laying beside a wing also taken like a knife through butter.

I know now that this is a weapon of destruction.

"How was that for you?" I ask my growling katana. Its growling seems to have subsided. The blood of its latest kill is... soaking into the blade. That explains a lot. "I think you can handle a little more."

With renewed vigor I kick off the ground and charge the other six soldiers. A swing apiece should do it.

The header of the remaining pegasi has her spear out, aiming right for my head. I draw Muramasa and point it straight at her in the same way. It’s like makeshift jousting. I alter my course ever so slightly so her spear only just touches my mane. With a swing of Muramasa, I take out her stomach and paint my new katana in blood. There’s two I’ve ended.

I flap my wings and regain my lost speed. The next two are lined up side by side, but their spears are tucked away. Muramasa is plenty long, but I can’t risk taking both of them out at once. Instead, I hold it out horizontally, instinctively trying to block them both off. That’s when I’m taught an important lesson; katanas can’t block worth shit.

The pegasi seize me, knocking my wind clean out and separating me from Muramasa. I’m flying in the complete opposite direction as they steer me into the lake. I’m breathless in the air, and soon I’ll be breathless in the water.

The pegasi let go of me right before I hit the surface. I hear the piercing slap, and I feel the sting on my back all the worse. I won’t be able to recover from this one so easily. I hear something pass by my ears and just barely see that it’s an arrow. Looking up and squinting my eyes, I can see the pegasi above the water slinging their crossbows.

I orientate myself and start a panicked paddle through the water, but it’s difficult when I keep getting stabbed and clipped by arrows. I flap my wings in a desperate struggle to get anywhere but here. My priorities are rapidly dwindling from trying to kill the unholy abomination of a warmare herself to just trying to stay in the field of battle. The fear of death is beginning to loom around me even though my mind tells me Shokenda won’t let that happen.

Will she?

With one more thrust of my wings, I breach the water and make a clean landing back on the island. Muramasa is nowhere to be seen, but evidently I’ve gone unnoticed by the pegasi, who are still shooting at the water. At least until Shokenda decides to fuck this up for me.

“Cut him down, you fools! He’s only mortal!” she shouts.

Two more pegasi land nearby me. I’ll have three more to take on after this, assuming I even last that long. These two take a more conventional route, with each drawing a knife from their belts. I’m in no mood to make witty banter anymore, so I won’t even try. Instead, I let them make the first move.

I step back as one takes swings and jabs at my neck and chest. She makes an vertical slash down and ends up slicing just underneath my cursed eye. I wince, but in the long run that’s not going to be too big a loss.

The other colt is coming around the side with his knife flailing. I leap into the air just before he can land a hit, but he recovers quickly, coming to a stop and grabbing his already loaded crossbow. He fires up at me. I backflip to miss the bolt by an inch, and he’s already reloaded when I land.

I lean out of the way of the next hit just as the mare comes up behind me. She thrusts her knife outwards. I sidestep it, then grab ahold of her foreleg, disarming her of her knife. The look on her face is just priceless. I strike her upside the head, then pull an advanced maneuver Altair taught me for when stealth missions go awry; using her back as a hold, I flip over her and, with my greedy sleight of hoof, nick a crossbow and pack of bolts right off of her. I wrap my forelegs around the mare's neck and jerk her in front of me. When the colt fires his crossbow, it goes right into her chest. She’s out of the picture now.

That’s three.

I toss her body away, then take her donated cross bow and shoot the colt. The first bolt lands in his hoof, making him holler, and with a fast reload and another pull of the trigger, I fire the next right through his throat.

That’s four. Caro would be so jealous.

Now where is Muramasa? I soar upward to survey the area and see the glimmer of the blade floating on the water. Evidently Hephaestus crafted it so light it can float! But I also see the remaining pegasi skimming the surface. I can’t blame the three of them for wanting that weapon like it’s a drunk nurse. But it’s mine.

I dip and pull up just before I breach the water, then flap my wings like mad. I suppose I can thank Altair that this armor is so light compared to those pegasi and their heavy steel. I’m on the tail of the the slowest in no time. I fly over him and reach around his neck, seizing him and steering him off course towards the stone fall. I hear him grunt as his head collides with the stone, leaving a crack. A thick head. Go figure. While he cries out, clutching his bruises, I grab his head and slam it into the wall again. And again. That crack is much larger now. I know he’s dead when I hear a snap from his insides. No doubt I’ve broken at least half of his skull.

Five. This is growing unpleasant.

All that time wasted, and the remaining two have acquainted themselves with Muramasa, with out of them actually having the audacity to try and take my katana. I give my wings a charging buzz, then take off. I can only hear the rushing air in my ears. I flip around and drop kick the thief in her back. I grab Muramasa off the ground, then spin around and shove it through her. I remove the blade, with the scent of warm blood accompanying the sight of the mare sinking.

Six.

That just leaves this colt. His hoof goes for his crossbow, but he stops when he realizes he’s well out of bolts. He settles for crouching and spreading his wings.

I nearly lose my flight when I feel the sting of a wing blade in my shoulder. I rip it out with my teeth and toss it as quickly as it comes, then hold Muramasa close as the colt readies another throw. He tosses the first, which I dodge, then comes the second. I deflect it. I knock the third aside with a flourishing swing. “Not good enough!”

I’m tired of this game. I soar right up to the colt with Muramasa tucked away, then swing it diagonally across his chest as I pass by. I come to a stop on my hooves in the shallow end of the pond. I turn around, treated to the pleasant sight of his two halves falling apart.

Seven.

I blink only once, then I see Shokenda standing right before me. She wears a smile that doesn’t belong on the face of a pony. It just seems... wrong. And disproportionately happy.

“You saw that?” I ask, resuming my battle stance and pointing Muramasa at the point between her eyes. “Now that was a battle.”

She just keeps wearing that awful smile.

“Well?!”

“Thank you,” she says.

Of all the things she could say, that was the one I was expecting the least. My stance falters, and I let Muramasa rest at my side. “What?”

Shokenda clicks her tongue and takes a slow canter around the island. "Those soldiers were becoming a bother; I questioned their loyalty and sought a perfect test for them, and when I sensed my favorite former assassin in my midst, I figured he'd be willing to spill some blood to get to me."

The satisfaction of victory in my chest is waning. “What?!”

"They weren't loyal enough to the cause, it seems. I truly should thank you.” Shokenda spreads her large wings, beating them once for emphasis. “But, I won't."

She ascends opposite the rain, facing the hole in the ceiling. She’s about to take off, robbing me of a chance to truly hurt her. I’m not done yet. She can’t do this to me! She can’t use me as a tool and just run away! I take Muramasa’s hilt in my mouth, surely scratching the finish as I grind my teeth against it, then take off after that bitch.

“RRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAGH!!!”

I stretch out my hoof and plant it right against Shokenda’s chest. I feel her armor dent ever so slightly, but as expected, she doesn’t show any sign of pain. I don’t care. I follow up by punching that same spot with my right hoof, then my left, then my right, until my hooves are nothing by blurs tearing into her ebony plating.

Still in a screaming rage, I grab Muramasa, fly higher and slash at Shokenda’s face in an uppercut. I watch her bleed a dribble of gold before the wound fades. Then she just stares at me. I bring the sword down, right to her horn. I’m hell bent on cutting that thing off. But since when does anything go as I want when she’s involved? The sword glances harmlessly off her horn, and I’m left floating there as the stupidest pegasus in Equestria.

All four of my legs are forced outwards. I look around and see my entire body, save for my head, is wrapped in her harsh gold aura. Shokenda hovers towards me until I can feel her breath. It doesn’t smell or feel of this world.

“I see a thousand reasons why you threw yourself into the Legion and the Thieves Guild, and none of them are the absolute answer for you. You can make up excuses all you wish, but in the end, you only joined their ranks to fill the void left in your heart.” She passes her armored hoof over my left eye. “But even then, you still haven’t suffered enough.”

I feel her aura invading my feathers. She removes every last wing blade I have tucked away, and lets them all drop. Then it’s my turn. The aura disappears, and I fall.

“Caro is the only one who can kill me, but regardless, he will not. Equestria is mine. It’s only a matter of time before he dies, and I can truly reign absolute. As for you, stop seeking me out. You are useless to stop me, and any desire you have to hurt me will only provide you a finite satisfaction. When I deem you have fallen beyond the edge of despair, that is when I will kill you.”

Here I lay near motionless, floating on the water, under the rain, with only my slow breaths and blinking eyes acting as proof that I'm still alive.

A hopeless battle ending in my defeat. For a moment, back there, I expected something otherwise, but that was merely rage induced stupidity.

There's not a thing in this world quite like coming close to death that makes you evaluate yourself. So I may as well take this time to ask; who exactly am I? What the hell am I doing?

Shokenda killed my dream of a better Equestria, and without Caro I had nothing to fight for, so I threw myself into the Thieves Guild and Imperial Legion. I thought I could find some purpose through them but my mind is constantly muddled with confusion, torn in different directions. The end of this road is a thriving kingdom, but where is the in-between? What can I possibly do to get me there?

There's too many questions and not enough answers.

But, in a way, Shokenda was right. For months I’ve been left without a cause to fight for. Sex and alcohol’s boons only lasted me so long, and eventually I grew tired of such things. Then, I fell into bed with Altair, and in the process, the entire Thieves Guild. I will admit that the offer was taken on a whim, but when I asked myself why, the response was, ‘Why the hell not?’ That was followed by weeks of training in the ways of stealth and skill, several means of sneaking about that I thought I knew but never truly appreciated in the way Altair and his band of birds did. I also obtained some wonderful armor out of the experience. So it hasn’t been a complete waste of my time.

But still, the question remains; why?

All of that hiding and sneaking in silence gave me time to think about Queen Platinum and the Imperial Legion. For the longest time, the idea that you’re always on one side of the war or the other has been engraved in my mind, and evidently, it hasn’t left. I thought that I owed Platinum my service after all the hell I put the Legion through. I remember the spiteful glares of death they all berated me with when I first stepped into the armory. They know who I am. My legacy as a Blackwing is a stain of time that will never wash away, and Shokenda only insists on dirtying it further.

So I’m part of the Legion now. Again; why?

There is no bloody reason.

I feel the water ripple over my muzzle. Thankfully, its not as dark in here as most caverns. I hear a few distant rumbles accompany the ripples, and clumps of rocks break loose.

If there is no reason, then why am I here? Leading soldiers to their death against an enemy they can't hope to defeat. I don't even have the bloody sword to show for it!

Another rumble, this one louder and closer, breaks me away from my thoughts. More debris falls from above, pelting me with dust and pebbles. No way they are using explosives or megaspells on the surface, are they? For that matter, who’s they?

Then I hear cacophonic rumbles from beyond, the echoing around the walls and the surface envelope me. It’s like the cave is yawning, yearning to split apart.

I lean forward and watch the spectacle; an entire segment of the ceiling is torn apart, cascading down and rupturing the lake. An entire wave comes over me, soaking my coat and mane and landing me back at the entrance.

When the dust settles and I’ve wiped the water clean from my eyes, I’m given a view of the downpour. The outside has been enduring this unforgiving rainfall for hours, I can tell.

But that doesn’t exactly answer how the hell an entire portion of the cavern decided to fall apart. I question the possibility of some fearsome beast tearing the place down. At least, until such a thing is confirmed and I see its horrific body come into view. As well as a second one of them.

The two dragons, one boasting dark blue scales and the other fiery red, let out reverberating roars that sends a stinging sensation throughout my ears. I slam my hooves to them. I can’t hold myself steady from the painful sound, and I let out a very long sigh of relief when it finally ends.

The red dragon cranes its head back and laughs, as if it were part of some great triumph. “We are reborn!” it shouts. “Our savior, the mighty Saviikaan, has come to us!”

The blue one joins in with the cackling, as if it and its red companion are birds of a feather... or lizards of a scale. “The reclaiming of the sacred land has begun! All will burn, and from the ashes the Precursors shall rise again!”

Sure, fine, just don’t bother me while you’re... Wait, that’s their plan? Saviikaan wishes to bring the Precursors back? How can he raise an entire race from the dead? But... if Otar is still alive, even after a thousand years, what could that mean for the rest of the Precursors?

“Patience, brother,” says the red dragon to his blue friend, lending him a supportive pat to his arm. “We must regroup with our kin, and take our place amongst those who will deliver this land to us. Do not make the same mistakes as we did in Saviikaan’s last crusade.”

The blue one blows smoke out of his nostrils. He folds his arms and holds his head proud. “Never again, brother. We stay together as one Dovah, and the Dovahkiin of this cycle cannot best us.”

“Let the crushing defeat at the hooves of Lilypad fill our hearts with rage and drive us to victory.” The red one snorts more sinisterly, visibly grimacing.

I’m completely lost as to what they’re speaking of. Crusade? Reclaiming? Cycle? Lilypad? Who the hell is Lilypad?!

Red flaps his wings, which are ribbed with blades across its entire span. Looking over to blue, I can tell he has much of the same on his wings. Red gestures off into the distance and says, “Come, brother. We must away. Saviikaan requires every last shred of our assistance.”

And what can I do to put an end to such madness? I can’t even conquer my own insecurities. How am I supposed to cope with one dragon, let alone a pair of them?

There’s one pony that can. He can conquer such trials and never even flinch. He doesn’t let trivial things such as authority or fear diminish his belief in doing the right thing, and while he may be stupid and naive, he means beyond well for those he loves. In this dull and dreary world, in this twilight age, he can be a beacon of hope where he’s needed most. And I truly, truly need him, now more than ever.

Why? Because he is who I fight for. Why? Because he is my friend. Why? Because I fucking believe in him!

I let out my first audible noise for the first time in what feels like an hour. Not because of the harsh, menacing monstrosities before me, but because of what appears above them. In the stormy, rain drenched skies, a dazzling golden light radiates through, breaking the dark clouds apart. It’s a different sort of gold from the dragons’ aura, not nearly as harsh. Nor is it gentle like Celina’s. It’s heroic and radiant. It’s warm, filling my entire body with newfound vigor.

By Epona, Gammon, Wanderer, Aramis, Ingramm, Hephaestus, Nebula, Fauste... Dragos! It’s him!

The golden light streaks through the tear in the clouds and strikes the peak of the rubble that used to be the cavern ceiling. The dragons turn simultaneously, watching the light take form. I’m guilty of wearing their same confounded expression, but while they’re appalled by confusion, I honestly couldn’t be happier.

“What is this before us, brother?” asks the blue one.

The red one moves his snout closer to the light. “I am unsure, brother. It is a most peculiar sight.” He raises his hand. Albeit reluctant to make contact it, his glare intensifies as he moves to touch it with a single claw.

“I suggest we approach this with caution, brother.”

The light disperses into wisps, showering the whole cave in a downright whimsical glimmer. Even the water around me is sparkling. So is my heart.

I look back to what I’m sure is the one pony I need to see more than anything else. And my prayers are answered.

Caro, still wreathed in gold, rises from a crouch, and equips his double edged sword in his hoof. He smirks as his eyes flash. He makes eye contact with the dragons. Both of them. “Alright. Who’s first?”

Caro lands in the water just as the head of the red dragon slumps onto the rubble. It croaks out a weak whine, then blows smoke onto Caro as he passes by. The Dragonborn only coughs once, shaking the cloud away with a hoof. He faces the red and hisses. “The reclaiming is over. Leave this life quietly.”

“The Reclaimer has already made his mark upon this land. You cannot stop what he has put in motion. Your struggle is useless.”

The blue dragon lends his support with a weak bellow that barely passes his lips. He lays on his side, with his blood turning the pond a deep red. “Well said, brother... You were always the finer speaker.”

“And you were always a superior combatant. It’s almost insulting to have lasted longer than you in our struggle against this little insect.”

Caro brandishes his sword and presses its blade against the red one’s skin. “Listen well. We ponies may have been insects at a time but this is no longer true. We rose from the ashes, stronger than ever, and thousands more have come from afar in the name of a safer, fertile land. Equestria belongs to them. It belongs to us.”

The two dragons both blow smoke onto Caro. He has to cover his eyes and wipe them clean of irritation. “Because you deem it so? The Dovah have ruled this land for millennia,” says the blue one.

“You ponies fought a war amongst yourselves within days of arrival to this sacred land,” says the red one. “And even now brothers wage war. You are unworthy, and thus the dark wings of Saviikaan come unfurled.”

“We’re not perfect, but we mature. We evolve. You are locked into stagnation.” Caro turns away from the dragons, and stomps away. He furls his brow in defiance. “Yes, those who desire decimation of all of ponykind before we’ve barely begun? Truly they are the worthy ones,” he boasts sarcastically.

The two dragons close their eyes simultaneously, and their bodies emanate their harsher gold aura, which pours into Caro. That’s two more souls for the Dragonborn. He gives his sword a dramatic swing, then sheaths it on his back.

He gives a flip of his mane. It’s grown much longer. “Discuss your superiority with your brethren. I’ll speak to you again soon enough.”

Caro trots in a half circle, sighing dramatically. He wades into the water until it reaches his barrel, then sits on his hindquarters, stretching them out. He takes the sheath of his new weapon and sets it aside. He then dunks his head into the water and pulls it out. He uses his reflection as a mirrors as he fixes his mane. He pauses, examining something beneath the water. He reaches beneath the surface and pulls up a certain black katana. He holds it up to his muzzle and sniffs across the blade. He then turns around. Finally, he has the decency to look at me. I couldn’t call out his name during the entire length of the battle for sheer awe. The memory of his grace and brutality will forever stay with me.

Caro trots through the water to me, with Muramasa casually slung over his shoulder. I’m still lazy in the water, making the Dragonborn look massive compared to me. This is definitely him, but there are so many little different things about him. His long sabbatical in the mountains has granted him a heavier coat with patches of grey fluff around his hooves, and in addition to that, he’s grown even bulkier. Despite that, he’s also cleaner, much more refined in posture, and generally, he just seems happier. He’s not the only one.

He smiles. "What are the odds.” He reaches out to me. “How is it that we always find each other?"

I don’t say anything, instead simply taking his offer. I can feel much more power behind his grasp as he helps me stand, but I also feel a greater amount of control in him. He doesn’t seem as... unstable.

He shifts his stance, smacking his lips as he waits for my response. When a few moments pass, he brings Muramasa forward. “Is this yours?”

I take ahold of the hilt and bring it around my back. It’s good to know this mission hasn’t completely fallen to waste. Truthfully, I’ve long forgotten about the mission. My thoughts are only with the Dragonborn in front of me.

“Long time,” says Caro.

He has no idea.

This isn't quite the groundbreaking homecoming conversation I expected upon my best friend's return. But, then again, there were times when I thought he would never come back. So I can't help but tackle him, pin him in the shallow water, and circle my forelegs around his neck.

I bring my snout to Caro’s cheek and nuzzle him.