Caro looks intensely at the Nightingales as he speaks. “Chrysalis has been thwarting every sneak attack that’s been thrown at her. I think it’s high time that we do the opposite. Listen very carefully, because I’m about to suggest we do several stupid things in a row.”

Jarl Golden Sieve opens the door of his decorated hall of commerce, exposing himself to the moist, chilly winds of Baltimare. He shivers and quickly closes the door, turning to his coat rack. He grabs a fur-lined cloak with triangle embroidery, wraps it around himself, and returns outdoors. “Good morning, Baltimare,” he says, walking with a swing in his step and his talons gripping his cane.

As he approaches his oak and gold carriage, a hooded chauffeur greets him. She bows and opens the carriage door. “Not the best day for a ride, is it, Jarl?”

“For you, perhaps,” say the jarl to the chauffeur. “Me, I will be enjoying my ride to Trottingham in warmth.” He gestures to the carriage pullers. “No gnosh breaks this time, I am behind schedule as is.”

Golden Sieve steps into his carriage and takes a seat next to Altair. “Hello, Jarl,” he says with gusto as he reaches around and closes the door.

“Hello, Alta—” Golden Sieve quickly realizes who he’s looking at and falls back in shock. “Oh! Divines… What are you doing here?”

Altair reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few papers. He scans over them and summarizes. “These are extortion documents drafted up by your private court. On your trip to Trottingham you intend on stepping away for a nature walk, on which you will ‘happen by’ a mine owned by a zebra family. You would demand a large weekly shipment of all materials they gather, and threaten them with closure of the mine if they don’t comply.”

Golden Sieve shifted in his seat, trying to remove his tail from between his legs. “Uh… It seems that my intentions may have been compromised.”

Altair pretends to hold a woodwind flute between his talons. “Do I need to get out my whistle?”

“None of that, Altair, I’ll…” Golden Sieve sighs. “I’ll compensate those zebras for their efforts and put the mined materials towards repairing Baltimare’s outer wall.”

“Yes, you will. Good boy.” Altair pats the jarl on the head. “Also, to give you time to think about your poor business decisions, I’m taking your carriage. And this.” He snatches the cane out of Golden Sieve’s claws, clutching it like it’s a rare gem. “Oooh, is this mahogany?”

“Yes, it is…” Golden Sieve mutters solemnly. “You’ll be wanting me to get out now?” He opens the door, taken aback once again as two ponies stand below, looking impatient. A pinto male earthwalker in a leather jacket, and a black unicorn in fur robes. They look awfully familiar to him. “Who’s—”

The pinto earthwalker steps into the carriage and turns to the jarl. “Get out.”

Golden Sieve immediately recognizes his intense voice. “Dragonborn?”

Caro smirks. “Altair gives you too little credit. Fus.”

With that sudden burst of wind, Golden Sieve falls out of the carriage, landing on the cobblestones with a comical squeal. The black unicorn lowers her pince-nez and says, “I’m sorry this couldn’t happen under more ethical circumstances.”

“He’s a politician, my dear,” says Altair as he helps Shae into the carriage. “Ethics are a foreign language to him.” He then calls out to the carriage pullers. “Excuse me, sirs! You’ll be paid double your usual wages if you would take us to Eden Forest. There’s a particular mansion we have an appointment at, just follow the road.”

The pullers converse among themselves for a few seconds. After they finish, the stallion at the helm looks back at Altair and says, “As you wish.”

“Make tracks!” Altair claps his claws, sits down in the carriage, and closes the door. “That went better than I thought it would. Caro, Shae, you were absolutely wonderful.”

Shae is beaming. She pulls her sleeves up to examine her new black body, and puts her hood down to play with her silver mane. “I need to use illusion spells more often. Even I don't recognize us."

"Silver is a good look for you," Caro comments.

“W-wait, why will I need a disguise?” Shae asks.

“Because you’re coming with me into the mansion,” Caro replies. “If there’s even a slight chance that Chrysalis knows the name Shae Sparkle, we can’t afford you walking in there as you are.”

“And why do you want me there in the first place?” Shae asks. “I’m horrifically unstealthy.”

“I need your magical abilities in case of an emergency,” Caro explains, nodding towards her horn. “You can also cover me from any suspecting changelings.”

Mistral leans over the map. “How would she?” she asks. “Aside from some very subtle cues, it’s almost impossible to tell the difference between changelings and anyone else that might be walking about the mansion.”

“Soul vision,” Shae realizes.

“Soul vision?” Mistral asks, blinking several times.

“Soul vision,” Caro confirms. He puts two wooden figures next to each other outside the main entrance to the mansion on the map. “She can explain later. Now, Shae…” Caro turns to her with an intense, entirely serious gaze. “You know I wouldn’t ask you to go outside what makes you comfortable, but I need you to pretend to be my wife.”

Shae looks back and forth between Caro and the Nightingales. She then bursts out laughing.

“Your eyeliner, it’s a little smudged,” Caro says to Shae. He gestures to his right eye. “Imagine I’m a mirror.”

“Oh?” Shae frets about with her robes as she looks for a cloth. She finds one one in the back pocket. “This carriage may be luxurious, but it’s terribly unbalanced.”

Caro grunts in agreement as another bump in the road causes him to forcibly shift in his seat. “The gold might not be evenly distributed. Master and I used to help repair the occasional carriage, and more often than not, it was always due to an imbalance in materials.”

“Worry not, I think we’re almost there,” says Altair. He scoops up his cane and points it to the carriage window. Shae leans close to the window and has a peer outside, where the Eden Woods pass quickly by. The name is hardly indicative of the environment; few trees have any leaves, making the forest appear desolate and abandoned.

Caro wonders, for a moment, if the desolation has anything to do with the changelings, but he can’t think of how that could be possible. Trees are alive, but they’re not cognizant.

“Why would a brothel be stationed in a place like this?” Shae asks, pondering all the possible answers in her head. “To make the brothel appear more attractive than it really is? Or maybe it’s to keep a level of discretion. I mean, hardly anyone comes to the Eden Woods for anything these days, aside from lumber…”

“And a paid lay, it would seem,” Caro says gruffly. “Uh, Shae. Eyeliner.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, this soul vision makes everything look like glass, and I can’t see faces very well.” Shae dabs at her eye and wipes away the smudged bit of black makeup that blemishes her otherwise perfectly made-up and disguised face. A little powder and a streak of blush makes her facial structure completely unrecognizable, and the pince-nez are a far cry from her reading glasses. “I’m starting to see the value of this disguise. Odds are, if Chrysalis wanted to get to you, I’d be her next target.” She exhales, with a noticeable shudder grabbing Caro’s attention. “I just hope that we’ll be able to sell a married image. What if the emotion isn’t genuine enough for the changelings to fall for it?”

“Well, if you’ve taught me anything, it’s that love isn’t exclusive to couples,” Caro contemplates, pointing between him and Shae. “You love your daughters just as much as you love anypony else, and I’d say there’s enough between us to fool the changelings.”

“Perhaps,” Shae mutters, uncertainty still prevalent in her voice. “How do we sell this illusion?”

“Just do what you would do if Rosemary were in my place, and I’ll do as I would if you were Tohro.”

Shae nods. “You’d need greasier skin to be slightly like Rose, but I’ll do my best. Will we have to kiss?”

“Likely not.”

“Good.” Shae taps her lips, giggling awkwardly. “Rosemary’s kisses taste like soot. It just wouldn’t feel right.” Just as she bursts out laughing again, the carriage’s wobbling begins to subside, and the pullers all whinny loudly.

“We’ve arrived, sire!” one of the pullers shouts.

“On that note, our trip ends,” Altair announces. He reaches out with his newly stolen cane and pushes the carriage door open.

“And the madness begins…” Shae tries to breathe slowly. She lowers her voice to a hush. “Caro, I can cope with crooks or the average beast, but so much of this is outside of my understanding and everything is spiraling out of control. What’s happening, really?”

“I don't really know either,” Caro replies. "For now, let’s pretend we’ve been married for twenty years and it's been nothing but flowers in the spring, at least up until we decided to spice things up a little. Stay close to me, and Chrysalis won't suspect a thing.”

Shae takes one last deep breath. “Spice…” she whispers. “Okay.” She takes Caro’s hoof and lets herself be led outside the carriage.

Altair whispers to them, “I’ll be taking the carriage around. You won’t see me inside, but I’ll see you.” He snaps his talons. “Right, gentleponies, take us home!”

Eight hooves land on rough, vine-entangled cobblestone as the carriage takes off. A tall fenced gate stands before Caro and Shae, like an entrance into Tartarus itself. They both suck in and dissolve any lingering fear as best as they can. Following Altair’s instructions, they keep their fear and worry at bay by taking everything at objective face value.

Caro recites a key thought. It’s merely a mansion filled with mild-mannered, if somewhat depraved, ponies. Imagining Tohro saying that makes him feel worlds calmer. He only hopes that Shae holds on to a happy thought of her own.

“This is a good start, but you have to be careful. If you can convince yourself that there’s nothing to fear, then the changelings won’t sense it,” Altair says. “Now, I don’t think it’s going to be a surprise that the changelings will do everything in their power to welcome you into the mansion while also keeping a close eye on you. They will constantly change appearances so you don’t know who you can trust.”

“I’ve got that covered. Besides, who said we planned on talking to anyone?” Shae asks. “All we have to do is walk through calmly, right?”

Mistral shakes her head. “Perhaps, when you get in. You’ll still have to convince the changeling guards to actually let you in, and they won’t be the only ones.”

“Understood,” Shae says, turning to Caro. “If I spot a changeling, I’ll tug a few hairs on your tail in their direction.”

“Good show,” Altair says. “Now, if I may make a few additions to this plan? You’ll have to do a lot more than just stroll in and hope for the best.”

Caro, for once in his life, is thankful for his sensitive body. He feels the hairs at the apex of his tail get pulled left and right, cluing him in that the two ponies standing guard at the gate are changelings.

One of the changelings has taken the appearance of a mare, and the other a stallion. They wear extravagant gilded robes beneath simple steel plating. That, and their manes and faces being far too well-kept, makes them far too picturesque to be real.

Does Chrysalis have no idea how this world works beyond her appetite? Caro thinks.

He remains close to Shae, pulling her close to him and putting on a subtle smile. He tries not to force it. “Hello,” he says to the soldiers, who seem friendlier than he expected them to be. “We were told that this mansion holds services of the, ah, illicit sort. How would we get in on that?”

“No prerequisites, sir,” says the female guard. She taps the gate, and it slowly creaks open. “Just go on inside and enjoy the many services our mistress offers to the strong and weary both. All are welcome at this palace of pleasantries, so long as you don’t disturb the peace, and you can afford the price.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Shae assures both the guards. Aside from looking a little spooked, she carries just enough confidence and tenderness to put on a convincing guise. “Just a little bit of a sabbatical and it’s back to the farms of Trottingham with us.”

“Understood. Do enjoy your stay,” says the male guard. His unusually pleasant manner of speaking is also a bit of a giveaway, though Caro presumes that if he didn’t know they were changelings, he’d just take their demeanor as merely strange, as opposed to masks hiding monsters. “And please tip the servers, they are woefully underpaid.”

The entrance garden appears worn down, yet seems to be pleasant enough to take a stroll in. Vines have overtaken some of the cobblestone, and there are numerous cracks in the stone walls bordering the many pathways that lead around the mansion.

The rounded water fountain boasts an impressive marble statue of four ponies of ambiguous gender contorted in what appears to be a lewd act of passion, although it’s hard to tell. From the multiple points of view Caro and Shae can get as they walk around it, the expressions of the statues seem to switch between pleasure and agony several times over.

Caro feels two additional tugs on his tail as he notices two more guards standing at the main entrance, which is wide open. The guards greet Caro and Shae with mere nods before returning to form. From there, it’s easy to walk into the mansion’s entrance hall alongside other guests, all of which look eager, yet at the same time, somewhat emotionless.

“My greatest fear is that they’ll see through our disguise and just let us in anyway,” Caro confesses. “Then they’ll be able to pounce on us like a pack of feral cats. I do not want to be beneath one of those things again for as long as I live.”

“I agree, but Chrysalis wouldn’t do anything to compromise the illusion she’s set up within that mansion, right?” Shae asks.

“I was just about to say that,” Altair says, pointing a talon at Shae. “Very astute of you, Miss Shae. The key is to be in plain enough sight that any attempts on your life would do more damage than good for Chrysalis.”

Shae smiles broadly, before realizing the implications of such a strategy. “Being caught alone is a different story, then.”

“We don’t know how much Caro’s presence clouds up Chrysalis’ connection to the hivemind. It could work for the whole of the changeling armada, or it could only apply to her. As such, you should only fight a changeling as a last resort, and make sure you dispose of them as quickly as possible. If they go down screaming, it won’t matter if Chrysalis is in another room or on the other side of Equestria. If the hivemind isn’t clouded, she will feel it.”

Altair grips Caro’s shoulders tightly. Caro nods with grim understanding. “So if we have to take one out, we’ll make it count.”

Shae clears her throat, drawing everyone else’s attention. She turns her head and fires off a quick, quiet bolt of lightning that leaves a small crater in the wall. “That shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

“This might be a problem,” Shae comments in a hushed voice. She keeps a smile on her face to hide her concern from the patrons surrounding her, and pretends to appear fascinated as she looks over the velvet carpet, many floors, white columns and ornate furnishings that decorate the mansion. “Yes, definitely…”

Caro keeps a smile on as well, though he’s not pleased to hear about a hitch so early into the operation. “What is it?”

"Altair was very thorough about the layout of this place, but I’m seeing inconsistencies.” Shae subtly nods to the center of the large gathering hall. “There should be a large staircase, but the mansion we’re in now has stairs to the sides of the room. Also...” She looks up. “Altair mentioned four floors, not five.”

“It looked like three floors from outside,” Caro recalls. He shoots an annoyed glare around the room. “Are we being played with? What’s going on?”

“Smile,” Shae reminds him. As he relaxes and reclaims his disguised expression, she begins to think. “I’ve felt this strange frequency going through my head ever since we walked inside. I thought it was just nerves, but there’s something wrong with this place, something my aura vision can’t detect. It’s obviously a physical construct, but beyond that…”

“We’ll improvise. It’s not as though we’re—”

Caro is interrupted by a tap on the back. He turns around, keeping a pleasant fake smile, as he finds himself looking at an face he thinks he’s seen before. A pink earthwalker stallion with the most eye-catching, cloudlike beard, a darker shade of pink. His fur robes were just as colorful, with warm reds and greens throughout.

“Hail, new patron!” the bearded stallion shouts in a jovial tune. “What brings you to this slice of paradise? Are you here merely to eat up the sights, or partake in a few bites? Seeing or being, what brings you here?”

Caro is a little disoriented by somepony so forward in a place so menacing, but a quick glance at Shae, who shakes her head, tells him that this fellow is not a changeling, so he plays along. “My wife and I seek a little jolt in our otherwise wonderful lives. Perhaps a,” he clears his throat, “little quality time with some strangers?”

“Well, you would want none from me. Your tastes are mild by my standards.” The bearded stallion chortles as he takes a pint from a nearby table and swigs whatever was in it. He then offers his hoof. “Sir Puddinghead at your service.”

Caro swallows and takes a step back, as does Shae. “Excuse me?” he asks.

Puddinghead snorts and puts the pint down. “Oh, right. I’m still not used to having fame to my name. What a shame, but that’s the game.” His mane grows fluffier at the sight of a long-maned beauty on a couch, who flashes a sultry wink. “I see a lion that I must tame.”

Caro subdues the multitude of emotions coursing through him. Confusion, fear, anger at both his confusion and fear… He can’t comprehend why one of the six founders was just right in front of him, and is now flirting with a young mare at least half his age.

“What is happening…” Caro angrily mutters.

“Keep it together.” Shae taps Caro on the cheek. “This place plays tricks. We need to keep ourselves focused.” She nods towards Puddinghead. “Now, get him away from that mare so we can ask him how to find Chrysalis.”

“Oh, good thinking. From the stories I heard, he’s almost always on an emotional high. Chrysalis wouldn’t dare let him out of her grasp.”

“That would explain why he’s here. Go ahead, I’ll keep watch. I’ll pull especially hard on your tail if anyone comes at you.” Shae turns around, keeping one eye turned to Caro, and goes off towards a conversating pair of rugged stallions. “They’re not changelings... Oh, fellas!”

Caro follows her example, making nice smiles and periodic friendly greetings at the many mares that fire off propositional gazes as he passes through. It’s hard to think of anypony that he sees as friendly, changeling or not; knowing that this mansion is more than it appears makes everything seem like a threat. It’s just like when he first lost Master Hammerfell, and the world appeared darker and more menacing than it truly was.

If this flirty, bouncy, boisterous stallion is the real Puddinghead, then Caro figures that he is as good a trusted stallion on the inside as any, though he’d have to exercise caution. What else is new? he thinks on that regard.

Caro sits next to Puddinghead, though he doesn’t look at him. It is easy to slip in unnoticed, as Puddinghead is the talkative sort, engaging three mares at once in a thrilling story involving a cheese wheel and the full moon. Caro tries not to keep up, and instead focuses on looking as comfortable as possible.

A few minutes pass. As soon as there is a lull in the conversation, Caro interjects, speaking while facing forward. “Puddinghead.”

The deep, loud voice in his ear assures Caro that he has gotten the bearded stallion’s attention. “Ah, hello again! What a night, huh? Simply outrageous, these fine mares are, and the wine just keeps on coming! But drunk on spirits I am not, no sir, I am simply inebriated with elation, I am bashed with bliss, yes sir!”

Caro sighs. He would welcome such a pony in any other situation, but he has no time to waste. “I’ll stay sober, thanks. I need to ask something of you, and it’s very—”

Puddinghead scoots next to Caro and presents an odd looking confection; a crystalline lotus. "Oh, you must partake in one of these. Sugar crystals that form in the shape of flowers!"

Caro knocks it off the plate on instinct. It shatters on the ground at the hooves of a glaring mare.

"Sorry, hoof slipped,” he says to the mare. “Might I have another one of those?"

"Best not break another one, love. They cost fifty bits each,” she says, her voice all too cheerful. Caro quickly darts his eyes towards Shae, who mouths ‘Changeling’ to him before returning to a glass of wine and the two stallions.

Caro figures that with that infraction, he may be on borrowed time. He drops all pretenses and says to Puddinghead, “You’re not supposed to be here. Tell me what you know about this place so I can find the hag who owns it, and get you and everypony else out in one piece.”

Puddinghead is anything but unsettled. He leaps towards Caro and lands on his stomach, with his hooves on his cheeks. "Are you blind, young lad? Such a friendly place can’t be all bad."

"Really?” Caro says sarcastically. “How long have you been here?”

"I only got here an hour ago. Although I am quite the regular; Sugar and Spice sweeped me up on the spot, and have already treated me to a wonderful—”

“I don’t need to know the details. What were you doing before you came here?”

“I find your approach to be of the un-entertaining sort, friend,” Puddinghead says, his smile dwindling very slightly. “But if you must know, I was on my way to a summit in Everfree.”

Caro knows that Puddinghead most definitely wasn’t on the guest list of Platinum’s most recent gathering. "Which summit?"

"Don't you know, dear boy? There's to be a huge gathering at the Rainbow Palace. It's a three day party, organized by the gracious soul that stands before ye. Of course, it's also Queen Platinum's birthday, but her boundless generosity shines through; she insists on everyone in Everfree getting presents instead of her... Don't doubt that Hurricane will give her a special present of his own, though. Ever the scamps, those two. Young love, don't you know?"

Caro turns to Puddinghead and places his hoof on his shoulder. "Hurricane is dead, Queen Platinum is old and bitter, Equestria is at war with itself, dragons are burning it to the ground, and you've been in here for decades."

Puddinghead looks through Caro for a moment. He then flinches and asks, “I phased out for a second, could you repeat that?”

“I cannot repeat this enough, Caro. Don’t do anything that would disrupt the mansion’s atmosphere, unless it means getting close to Chrysalis,” Mistral says. “If you must disrupt the mansion’s atmosphere to get to Chrysalis, then for Hephaestus’ sake, don’t not do it.”

Shae and Caro blink in unison. “Understood, I think,” the latter says. “So, thanks to my ‘haze,’ Chrysalis will think I’m alone. That’ll make it easier for you to seek out Tohro.”

“Right,” says Chippy. “You may not notice us, but the Thieves Guild will be placing themselves around and within the building, coming in increments. A sudden influx of guests would be too suspicious to observing changelings.”

“The three of us and a squadron of inside thieves will slip away and meet up here.” Altair points to an entrance to the wine cellar. “There’s a hidden door down here. Once we meet up, all we’ll need is enough time to find Tohro and Chrysalis’ other prisoners.”

Altair imagines that Chippy is smiling beneath his mask as he says, “‘Enough time’ is pretty much whatever you give us to work with.”

Altair comes out of the lounge into a hallway just as his invisibility potion wears off. He is dressed in the golden-laced robes he had stolen from a Saddle Arabian dignitary a few years ago. He walks with confidence, eager to see where this mission ends, and also happy that he finally has an excuse to wear this outfit.

As he walks, however, he feels something increasingly off. He looks around at the paintings of beautiful mares in lewd poses, the tasseled carpet, the wooden floors, and pauses in his stride. He turns to his left, then his right, and raises an eyebrow.

“I have no memory of this place,” he whispers to himself. “Those paintings were abstract, and the floor was horizontally laid, not vertically… Something’s wrong here...” He then shrugs, shutting down all sense of worry. “Oh well, Caro’s doing just fine. What’s a few extra minutes to comb this place?”

“She saw you coming,” says multiple female voices in unison. “They will comb these halls for your corpse.”

Three adjacent paintings begin to shift before Altair’s eyes. The mares within them stand up, crawl out of the frames, and turn from oil to organic with a simultaneous leap. They all turn into changelings as soon as they land, with two behind Altair, and one in front. The archways back into the main lounge disappear, turning into walls.

“Your mom’s been doing some redecorating.” Altair flourishes his arms. Fire travels from his shoulders and converges around his talons. From the fire emerges chains connected to two thick blades. “Mind if Ares trims the curtains?”

The changeling in front morphs their hoof into a spear. It disappears in a burst of green flames. Altair swings one of his Ares blades around just as the green flames appear behind him. He thrusts his blade forward. The changeling materializes, screeching as it raises its spear leg, but the screech devolves into choking. Altair yanks his blade out of the changeling’s body, bringing green mucus and unidentifiable innards with it. The changeling collapses, dead on the spot.

“Surely you know I don’t fall for that anymore.” Altair swings his blades around and points them at the changelings behind him, who let out bloodcurdling screams.

Both the changelings launch themselves at Altair. He grips his chains and throws both blades out. The changelings fly out of the way, but Altair counted on that. He yanks the blades back, knocking over a buffet and a painting of the ocean. The chains catch on one of the changelings’ legs and stumble them, but the other one reaches Altair, its tongue flared and its fangs hungry for his flesh.

The changeling’s chitin creates sparks against Altair’s swinging blades. It keeps bucking, biting, and swinging at him, with Altair effortlessly dodging and blocking its every strike. “Are you even trying?”

Altair swings the chains around the advancing changeling and pulls. The chain snags around the changeling’s neck, making it squelch out in pain. It coughs out a wad of acid that lands at Altair’s paws and burns through the carpet and wood.

Altair turns around and throws his blades forward. The chains follow suit, throwing the changeling across the hall. It shatters a wallbound plate on impact. Altair leaps after it as he allows one of his blades to disappear. He lands against the wall, wraps his talons around the changeling’s neck, and slams him further into the wall. He raises his remaining blade for the kill.

The blade resists. Altair turns his head and sees that the other changeling has bitten down on the chain and is tugging hard on it, keeping Altair from delivering a fatal blow. He merely shows a smile at this, tightens his grip on his victim’s neck, and throws him at the tugging changeling. It’s too slow to get out of the way. The two careen into the wall together, taking down several more paintings and shredding the tapestries as they fall.

Altair smiles at the mess they’ve left; a gruesome mess of green blood and broken limbs. The changeling on the right has one of its hind legs broken right off, sitting in a pool of blood that’s staining the rug. “Against ten of you, I might be worried. At least then you’d have the means to retreat and regrow your limbs. In these numbers? Easily crushed like the bugs that you are.”

The changelings sit up as much as they can. The one on the left spits up more green, and starts cackling. “You’re proud,” it says in a voice that Altair unfortunately remembers. “Gonna kill her this time? Or will you take the form of a mare’s nethers and scurry off when things inevitably go up shit creek?”

“Hi, Ezio,” Altair says, rolling his eyes as the changeling takes the form of his late black-feathered brother.

The changeling does a good impression of Ezio, from his graveled voice to his aggressive mien, but it’s hard for Altair be impressed when it’s merely an image projected by a dying insect. “Where’s your aggression? Your warrior’s spirit? Disappear for three years without saying a damn thing, come back to your guild just in time for me to die… I trained you to be ruthless.”

“You trained me to be a thug. I found a higher calling. I help people now.”

“Keep telling yourself that. Can you truly escape your fate? The only claim to fame you’ll ever have is leading a band of liars and killers.”

Altair snickers, and points to the pretending changeling. “Pot.” He then points to himself. “Kettle." He then takes out his crossbow, points it at the changeling’s head, and pulls the trigger. The bolt doesn’t penetrate deep, but it cracks the changeling’s skull, shattering the illusion and forcing it to change from Ezio back into its original form. It dies, green blood trickling down its face and into its mouth.

The other changeling still lives. It lurches forward, stumbling as it tries to grab its severed leg off the rug. It’s grunting. Altair knows it’s trying to regenerate. He loads another bolt into his crossbow, once again aiming for the head. The changeling looks up at the crossbow and backs away.

“You’re slow and weak. You can’t feel your mother right now, can you?”

The changeling’s eyes are widened, its ears twitching. Altair has never seen one act like this before. He’s able to assume that this is because his suspicions about Caro’s presence clouding the hivemind was correct.

“Tell me where she is, and you live,” Altair says. “Trust me, I’m the king of thieves. I know a good bargain.”

“Betraaaay…” the changeling hisses.

“Speak up, brighteyes.” Altair jabs the crossbow forward. “Deal or no deal?”

The changeling speaks in a raspy lady’s voice. “You betrayed me!”

Altair is taken aback. He knows that voice, and unlike Ezio, who is merely a disownable annoyance, this is one that he would rather forget entirely. He points the crossbow, wanting to fire as quickly as possible, but he’s too late to do so before the changeling takes on the form of a bright blue pegasus. Not too old, but she’s definitely seen better days. Her eyes are heavy, her wrinkles apparent, born from the wonderful stress of being a mother.

“You told me you’d keep Mistral safe, you liar,” she says, her voice sad and filled with contempt. “Look what you’ve done. You made her into a monster. She can never have a normal life now, and it’s because of you!”

“I made her strong…” Altair says to himself.

The mare crawls forward and grabs Altair by the arm. Her voice turns even more haggard, and her eyes go white. “You ruined her life! You indoctrinated her into the scum of the world! Traitor! You’re a Divine-damned traitor! All of your friends are in hell and Mistral will be joining them!”

Altair pulls the trigger. The bolt fires into the changeling’s jaw and pierces right through its eye. It collapses, remaining in its disguise for far too long than Altair would like to see. He stands and watches as the mare fades away, leaving the corpse of an insect in her place.

Altair hears echoes in his head as he backs up against the wall. The sounds of two identical mares grunting and yelling as they kick and punch each other into bruised messes. The gleam of a kitchen knife in the sunset. The quivering filly with an empty eye socket. The wrong choice.

“You did nothing wrong.”

Altair turns and points the unloaded crossbow forward, only to see that it’s Mistral coming his way. She’s not wearing her armor, instead boasting a pure white dress with a golden shawl around her shoulders. She approaches Altair and slowly, carefully pushes the crossbow down.

“You did nothing wrong,” she repeats. “I didn’t know, and neither did you.”

Altair is still clutching the crossbow. His talons refuse to let go. “There was half a chance to save her life, and I—”

Mistral takes the crossbow out of his talons. “I miss my mom too. But I have no regrets. I chose this life, and I have you to thank for everything I’ve learned and all the incredible things I’ve seen.” She gestures to her lips. Aside from a crooked front tooth, she has a remarkable and genuine grin. “See this? This is a smiling pegasus who regrets nothing.”

“Oi, I think I found the wine cellar!” Chippy shouts from further down the hall. He’s still clad in his Nightingale armor. Altair and Mistral wave at him as he steps onto a bench and examines a painting of a glass of wine. He leans forward, and his hoof passes through the painting like it’s not even there at all. “It’s a false wall. Seems Chrysalis didn’t think to completely hide the prison away. It’d be fully within her power over this place to put them underground, or something of the like.”

“She has to let her prisoners out to play somehow… Not to mention they have to breathe.” Altair rubs his eyes. “They have their purposes, especially in this place.”

“Oh, Divines…” Chippy groans. “I’m already committed to killing Chrysalis. I don’t need to know how much of a beast and harlot she is. She already crossed that line by harboring Chancellor Puddinghead.”

“I know, but—” Altair pauses, pointing a talon at Chippy. “Wait, repeat that?”

Chippy shrugs. “Caro’s talking to Puddinghead in the lounge. Apparently he’s been trapped here since Equestria’s founding. Fuck all sorts of duck, right? Now get in your armor, this is a rescue mission.”

“Once we get to the cellar, I’ll find you and give you the go-ahead to go after Chrysalis,” Altair says to Caro. “You’d better know how to get to her by then, because I’ll be following you from afar while Mistral and Chippy make their way into the prison.”

Away from the party, in a quiet area in the corner of the lounge, next a wooden pillar, Caro explains everything to Puddinghead.

For the past ten minutes, Caro has laid on thick the absolute truth. He has told Puddinghead every excruciating detail of what happened to the rest of Equestria’s founders. Hurricane’s long stint in limbo, Pansy’s murder, Platinum’s long, difficult tenure as high queen, Clover the Clever’s dive into madness, and Smart Cookie’s unfortunate disappearance. By the time he finishes a simple summary of Saviikaan’s war on Equestria, all of the cheer has drained from Puddinghead’s face, and seemingly some of his color too. His mane also seems less bouncy, falling limp across his forehead.

"You don't have to believe me,” Caro says to Puddinghead.

"I'm torn between two things. On one hoof, I have no reason to trust you, seeing as we just met. On the other hoof, you sound candid, and I doubt you'd have any reason to tell me for your own amusement, because that would be a joke of the utmost cruelty."

"Well, I'm not laughing.” Caro gestures to his face. “You could have left decades ago, but you didn't. Clearly you're important to the monster who runs this trap, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Me personally, I have a suspicion that you give off a joyous vibe that keeps her drones well-fed over long periods of time, and I doubt that it's going out any time soon. You're the Sultan of Soirees, after all. Why would anyone trying to uphold an illusion such as this want to get rid of such an influence?"

Puddinghead looks off into the crowd of guests, which seems less inviting than before, and also quieter. "I always did find it strange that one of the guests thought I was part of the staff… She said the waitresses looked at me with regard. Now I know what she was talking about. Those smiles… like the happy look of a fat cat that caught a mouse. Rather disconcerting, that."

Caro wraps his foreleg around Puddinghead’s shoulders and whispers with extreme strength and importance in his voice. "And now it's time for the mouse to vacate the vicinities, because the cat’s ego is as large as the holes in her legs."

Puddinghead gasps. "Oh, Epona's sakes! I've seen the legs! How could I ever forget?!"

Caro slams his hoof to Puddinghead’s lips. “It’s not you, it’s this place. It doesn’t work by the rules of our world. So let’s just assume that we’re on another plane of reality, and the only way to escape is for me to catch the aforementioned cat unawares and create another hole in her body. Understood?”

Puddinghead stops muttering panicked extremities under Caro’s hoof. As soon as his lips are uncovered, he takes a moment to think. “...I need more,” he says. “Prove to me that this is real, and I can trust you, and I’m not just in some insane fever dream, because I truly, with all my heart, want to wake up.”

Caro knows just the thing. He smirks and holds out his hoof. A bright light travels down his foreleg and forms the blade of Excalibur, which Caro clutches proudly, despite how much his muscles ache at the action. “Bequeathed by Hurricane and the Nightingales.” He then dispels the blade before anyone else sees it.

Puddinghead swallows. “You couldn’t be using that if he wasn’t dead…” He turns around and lets out a long breath. He then approaches the wood pillar, and casually slams his head into it. “FUDGING RANCID SWEET ROLLS!” He rubs his forehead and returns to Caro. “Right, then. I’m the youngest living member of this great land’s founders. That’s okay. I’ll tell you what I remember now…”

“Thank you,” Caro says, finally satisfied at gaining progress. “And don’t worry, I know two good princesses that would welcome your return, and can help you through this.”

Puddinghead takes out a kerchief and wipes specs of blood and wood off of his forehead. “Okay… The memories are twisted like red on a candy cane, but I do know that there was always a door and a lot of stairs. Yes, yes… Even if this place is of a different sort of magic, one thing that never changes is that this Chrysalis lady always lives on the top floor. Wherever that is, well, for all I know, it could be downstairs or through a hallway that turns upside down.”

Caro can’t help but take a little dark humor out of Puddinghead’s reaction to all of this, though he only shows it through a little smile. “Knowing you, if you were in charge this place would be paradise.”

“Spare me, friend, I am in no state for that,” Puddinghead grumbles. “Chrysalis always spoke with... undeserved accomplishment. She’s on a fragile pedestal, one with more holes in it than her legs.”

“I know another matriarchal figure with an ego. I suppose I can use this one as practice.” Caro looks out to the crowd, scanning over it for Shae. “Hm. Where’d she go…?”

As he walks out to find her, Puddinghead pulls on his tail. After Caro whirls around with a whinny, Puddinghead asks, “What would you have me do, once you kill Chrysalis?”

The word ‘kill’ suddenly makes Caro feel uneasy, in regards to Chrysalis. “Hell is going to break loose around here, very soon. Make your way out before the changelings do anything desperate, and don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“Very well. Have fun slaying the demon!” Puddinghead says with uncandid cheerfulness.

Caro retraces his steps back to Shae. He walks away from the pillars, past the array of couches, across the entrance, and checks his surroundings. A young mare approaches him. Quite young. “Hello, sir. Are you looking for company?”

“Uh, how old are you?” Caro asks, unsure of whether or not this young one is a changeling.

“As old as you need me to be.”

Still unsure, Caro politely shakes his head and walks off, feeling a tad queasy. He considers how much would be accomplished if Chrysalis is killed. How many lives would be saved. Broken and used ponies set free from this hellhole. But he also takes into account all of the uncertainties.

What would happen to the changelings without the center of their hivemind? Would they just die on the spot, or would they seek vicious revenge? Equestria can’t handle another party in this dodecahedron of a war. The Imperial Legion, the Blackwings, the dragons, and then Changelings in the mix? Equestria would suffer worse than ever. But Chrysalis may have the answer to ending Saviikaan’s genocide, a guaranteed threat. But what if Chrysalis doesn’t have the answer at all?

Caro snarls and taps himself on the head.

The easy answer is to let Chrysalis die. The one time that answer is the logical one, and I’m questioning it. What is wrong with me? ...I’ll decide in the moment. Time cannot be wasted any further.

Just as his head stops spinning, so does he. He’s able to see Shae at the other end of the room, still in conversation with the two stallions. She seems as calm and aloof as she should be, but the stallions appear to be getting too comfortable around her. Caro furrows his brow and approaches.

“It just occured to me, we don’t know your name,” says one of the stallions. “What do we call you?”

Shae thinks about a fake name as she looks between the stallions. “Uh… Saltlick?”

The stallions exchange a smile. “She gets a discount,” they both say.

Caro tugs on the hood of Shae’s robe and talks fast. “As soon as Altair gives the signal,” he whispers, “he and I will move to the top floor. You’ll turn us both invisible and we’ll sneak away without a sound.”

“Uh, what are you two talking about?” one of the stallions asks. “What signal?”

Caro ignores him. “You remember what to do? Altair will tell you where to meet up with Chippy and Mistral. Whatever insane abilities you have, they’ll surely be more than enough to help Tohro and take out any threats you encounter down below.”

The stallion interjects again. “You’re coming between us and a sure thing here, lad. And honestly, what’s this about signals?”

Caro pulls away from Shae and eyes the stallion threateningly. “The signal is fuck off.”

“Rude one!” The stallion pushes Caro away. “Don’t tell us what to do, boy. She ain’t your lass.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Shae advances on the stallions and plants her hooves on their foreheads, her eyes and horns coming alight. The stallions both grumble, their eyes close, and they fall asleep, collapsing to the carpet at the same time.

“That could have come in handy several times,” Caro comments, nudging both of their faces.

“It only works on the weak-willed, really,” Shae explains. She looks at her hoof as eyes dim. “Although, with Fauste’s gift, hm…” She motions for Caro to follow her. “I was mostly using those two for discretion while I looked for Chrysalis or the changelings in the Fae. You’re right, she is quite high up.”

“How powerful do you think she is?”

“I don’t have much of a benchmark, but I’d say she’s worth about, ah, half of Shokenda?”

Caro sighs. “That’s not promising. I can’t decide between killing her or merely subduing her, but if she’s stronger than me, I might not have a choice at all.”

“She’s been doing this for a long time, and she doesn’t understand empathy, clearly. But she is Altair’s enemy more than ours. Maybe you should let him decide her fate. Not every decision has to be yours.”

“It feels like it is sometimes… But you’re right. We’re here for Tohro and everyone else she’s captured. Maybe that’s all we need to take part in. I’ll just—” Caro stops himself as he feels a talon lightly tap his shoulder. He turns his head and sees Altair, who has his other hand over his beak.

Altair nods and points behind him, towards an archway that leads out of the lounge. He then backs away and disappears into the crowd.

Caro smiles at Shae. “We’ll just see how this plays out.”

Altair squeezes Caro’s shoulder. Despite the sudden contact, Caro trusts Altair enough for his skin not to crawl. “We’ll just see how this plays out.”