As the carriage comes over the hill, Baltimare shrinks on the horizon until it’s taken from sight by the passing trees.

Altair is speaking plainly to Caro, while also admiring the finish of his new cane. “In truth, there's no way to completely purge one’s emotions. None of us are sociopaths. You'll just have to keep your most basic urges under lock and key for as long as you can.”

"And then what?" Caro asks.

"I know how Chrysalis moves better than you do, and you're in no place to fight right now. I'll engage her once you knock her off her guard, and you can rendezvous with the rest of the guild, with the rescued prisoners in tow. Given your body’s condition, you do not want to stick around for the action."

As comforting as the thought of reuniting with Tohro is, Caro can’t find comfort in ditching such a pivotal event, regardless of how much more reason Altair has to fight Chrysalis. If anything, it’s the fact that Altair wouldn’t hesitate to kill Chrysalis on the spot that concerns him the most. "I don't want to leave you alone. What if she kills you?"

"I don't plan on that happening,” Altair says with a smirk. “Buuut... if I do get to go out protecting the wielder of Excalibur, then the 'what if' is me taking as much of her as I can with me."

Noble a response as that is, something tells both Caro and Shae that he’s not being genuine. “Are you sure revenge won’t guide your talons?” Shae asks. “Chrysalis could possibly sense your anger close by, even if Caro clouds her senses.”

"I'm as composed as can be. I have a higher calling than emotional weight. Loyalty is a purpose, not an emotion.”

Satisfied with that response, Shae resumes playing with her disguise, switching her hair between sliver, blue, and red with merely a thought. “I can’t decide.” She goes back to silver and turns to Altair. “Is this pretty enough?”

“Very much so,” Caro compliments.

Caro estimates that the carriage ride was only a half-hour ago, and yet it feels like it’s been an eternity from there to the halls of the mansion. He and Altair walk swiftly yet subtly.

“I could be there in a heartbeat but my level of stealth is beyond you,” Altair says. He peeks around the corner, seeing that there is nopony passing through. He waves Caro onward.

“You must be excited,” Caro says. He hides his apprehension towards Altair’s desires behind a smile.

“To say the least, I’m anticipating much change in the world once Chrysalis is out of the picture. My thief brethren will rest easy, along with all those who have fallen to the Sisterhood of Shadows.” Altair leaps up a flight of stairs, which Caro takes a little bit longer to climb, grunting through the pain of every step. “I want you to understand how much this means to me. You have the key to her end, and I’m going to be there to witness it.”

Caro thinks nothing of it, imagining that he’d eventually be here even if the changelings hadn’t struck first. “All you had to do was ask me to help.”

“Dragonrein has already done enough for the Thieves Guild. Ezio’s death put me in power, and Tohro has been a wonderful student. But, Mistral did eventually get her message through to me. I’ve carried too many burdens alone, and for a long time I’ve needed to ask for assistance.”

“Not to mention that Excalibur was collecting dust,” Caro japes.

“It found a good wielder. As will Muramasa, when it's returned Tohro.”

Caro stops walking. “Wait, you have Muramasa too? I thought it was being kept by the Imperial Legion.”

Altair turns around and shrugs. “How are you surprised? If Mistral could infiltrate Hurricane’s bedroom, what was stopping her from getting into a standard-issue weapons crate in the barracks? What do you take her for?”

By the time the realization that the Thieves Guild tripped up the entire Imperial Legion washes over him, Caro is left alone in the hallway as Altair turns the corner up a flight of stairs. He runs to catch up, taking the steps quickly. He can hear the sound of a harp playing from beyond the gold-decorated double doors that stand imposingly at the top of the stairs.

“You and all of these rare weapons…” Caro says, not sure how to respond to this. “What is the purpose of the Nightingales, anyway?”

Altair drops his hood and removes his mask, latching it onto his chestpiece. His eyes sparkle as he speaks with one set of talons clenched. “We protect Hephaestus’ creations, of course. They belong in the possession of those who will keep them safe. Until recently, I believed that only we had the right to such magnificent crafts of labor and love, forged by the giver of fire.” He points at Caro. “You and Mistral proved me wrong, of course. Might for right, you know how it is...”

Caro nods. “I’m the Dragonborn. I’m fortunate to have learned about power and responsibility before doing something unforgivable.”

“You suffered much to realize that, did you?” Altair asks.

“Mmm.” Caro nods again, with his head pointed towards the ground.

“I’m a thief who has sacrificed more than he has gained. It’s why I’m after Chrysalis in the first place.” Altair’s talons are wreathed in flames. When Ares appears, he lifts the blades and crosses them in front of Caro. “I won’t bore you with the details… I had half a chance to save a life, and I fell upon the wrong half. I pray you’ll never be in a situation where someone’s life or death hangs on a single decision.”

Caro touches the flats of the blades, admiring their ridges and tribal etchings. “At least you have the tools to prevent that from happening again.”

“That was what I was looking for. I got low, so I left my brother and the Thieves Guild to rot while I sought a reason to live. And that’s how I found Hephaestus.” Altair chuckles. “That’s not rhetoric, I actually found him.”

Rubbing his forehead, Caro turns in a circle and inhales. “Shit, Altair, you are... full of surprises.”

“Said the dragon slayer.” Altair spins his blades around. “Where was I? Oh. See, Hephaestus said he could grant me power and purpose, but I had to show my commitment. He said that his weapons all require particular ingredients, and if I wanted something truly unique, I would have to give up something only I would be willing to give.”

Caro looks at Altair, then at the Ares blades, and then back up to Altair, who tilts his head and lets the blades burn away. Only now does Caro notice how much the flames resemble wings as they disappear.

Chippy feels Mistral’s wings brush against his back before the rest of her body follows suit. They tumble to the ground together. Mistral drops a few of her wing blades in her fall. “Damn!” she shouts.

Two changelings leap from the wine barrels and come at her with gleaming fangs. She quickly sweeps her blades up with her hooves, jumps at the changelings, and slices through them both. She kicks off the wall and bounces back at them as they fall. Her blades pierce their chitin, creating fountains of green mucus as they’re impaled to the ground.

Chippy stands up and redraws his sabre as he hears the pained cries of three more changelings They all drop from the ceiling. Two of them morph their hooves into makeshift daggers and begin thrusting at Chippy. He sidesteps and ducks most attempts, until two thrusts jab him in the chest, cutting through the weak slits of his Nightingale armor.

He grunts through the pain and parries the next onslaught of attacks. The moment one of the changelings hesitates, Chippy smacks the other one away, taking another puncture on his foreleg, and swings his sabre down on the hesitating one. It slices through the changeling’s foreleg, and with another quick swing cuts through its neck. It falls before it can even screech. Chippy pounces on the next one as it reels back from the shared pain of its brethren’s death, silencing it with his hidden blade.

“How are these things a threat, honestly?” Mistral asks, taking out a knife, casually dodging a wad of spit from the last changeling and charging at it. She rams the knife into the changeling’s chest, neck, and head, then bucks it into a nearby cupboard. Wood planks and wine bottles cascade down onto it. Many shades of red and white liquid mix with its green fluids in a pool.

“Impressive,” Chippy says to Mistral.

She takes off her mask and straightens out her hair. “Thank you. I had my doubts about you wearing the armor, but you make good use of it.”

“It’s not like I’m in any real danger. Not here, anyway. Changelings aren’t fighters. I mean, why would they need to be? If I could turn into anypony I wanted to, I wouldn’t bother with combat training.”

Mistral shoots a condescending glare at the many changeling corpses surrounding her. “Hm.”

“Don’t be like that, we can’t all be as driven as you,” Chippy says. Mistral imagines him smirking beneath his mask. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

Mistral approaches the wooden archway leading to a stone passage. It’s as grim and uncomfortable seeming as a changeling prison would be. As she walks through, her attention is drawn to the wall, where various cloth garments and gold ornaments are mounted. Her breathing quickens. “Goodness...”

Chippy is a different sort of bothered at the sight of the dressings. “For the prisoners? Ugh. How are those things supposed to be sexually appealing, anyway? It’s not even real gold, look at the shimmer…” He turns to Mistral. “Oh. I am so sorry.”

“Do I look like I’m crippled?” Mistral asks with a glance. “It’s been years, I’m fine.”

Altair puts his talons to the right side of the double door, and Caro puts his hoof to the left. They both look at each other, showing nervous but assured glances.

“You know what must be done,” Altair says. “I know that you’re not the aggressive berserker you once were, but at least call on that strength enough for me to finish this war.”

“I’ll clear the way for you,” Caro says. “I feel it bears repeating; are you sure you can stay out of sight?”

Altair grins. “You need not worry. Even without wings, I can still fly.” He cracks his knuckles, knocks on the door, and leaps up to the ceiling. The moment he leaves Caro’s eyesight, he cannot be located. Caro looks around the hallway from top to bottom, and yet it’s as though Altair was never there to begin with.

“Enter, but do not waste my time.” a weary voice says from beyond the door. It’s Chrysalis, beyond any shadow of a doubt, and the very reminder of what she sounds like sends Caro back into a quiet rage.

You’ve done nothing but waste mine, Caro thinks. He takes a deep breath and enters Chrysalis’ room. The instant he does, his disguise disappears. His faded turquoise fur and white mane return.

Surprising to Caro, her chambers are not far off from how he imagined them to be. The warm reds and browns of the mansion might as well be worlds away. This room is cold and dark, with no windows, and the only light sources are two sets of wallbound torches adjacent to a shabby marble throne. Bizarrely, there are also two buffet tables stocked with chocolates and appetizers in the middle of the room.

Chrysalis lies upon the throne. Not even a hint of regalness can be felt in her presence, as she lazes like an adolescent with her hind legs hanging over the side, one of her forelegs over her eyes. She looks tired, like she hasn’t had a good night’s rest in months.

“What’s wrong with you?” Caro asks without thinking.

“Caro?” Chrysalis sits up and looks at Caro, appearing genuinely surprised to see him. “My goodness, what brings you here? How did I not sense you?”

“My guess is as good as yours,” Caro answers.

“Ugh.” Chrysalis returns to her slack position. “What do you want from me, Caro? You’ve already shown me impudence, you’ve already insulted my children, and I know you’re in alliance with that sorry dewinged excuse for an avian.” She sighs and leans against the armrest of her throne. “Say what you must and leave.”

Caro swallows every little bit of seething hate that threatens to escape his mouth. He speaks as sweetly as he can to Chrysalis, showing an attempt at a warm smile. "I apologize for the knife, I apologize for my impudence, and I apologize for putting my relationship before respect for your radiance and beauty. I have rethunk your generous offer, and I want to pledge myself to you as your shield and sword."

Chrysalis turns sour, her frown growing larger by the second. It’s obvious to Caro that she doesn’t believe him. "Every single syllable that comes out of your mouth is a lie, and I have no tolerance for liars. I know you. When you make a decision, it takes nothing less than your world turning upside down to change your mind. If you have something to say, then go ahead and say it." Though her voice remains syrupy sweet, the threatening intent is there. “Why do you spite me so?”

“What is it you want me to say?” Caro steps forward, placing himself in front of Chrysalis and flashing a threatening glare of his own. “You reek of blood and death? Something about how you've sown hatred and distrust throughout Equestria? That ponies who slip up just a little end up dead at your hooves, you sit on a throne of lies, and nothing would please me more than to shove a knife through your forehead and twist it?"

Chrysalis seems neutral and unperturbed. “Say the truth. What do you want?”

Caro sighs and listens to his heart, instead of his anger. "...I just want Tohro back."

“No spell can reawaken the dead, little thing. Honestly, you think I’d just keep him around for you to come and find? Your precious toy is gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Understood?”

Caro’s heart tells him to walk up to the smorgasbord of fruits and chocolates and shove them all away, hard enough to make at least half the plates and bowls shatter against the floor and wall. As one of the bowls rolls along the carpet, he keeps his eyes trained on Chrysalis. “I know he's alive.”

“Is he?” Chrysalis turns her head, allowing her mane to fall across her face. Her eyes are visible through it, like a thin curtain. It’s one veil that she can’t maintain. “Is he, truly? Or is this another mortal delusion? Some sort of invisible tie between lovers that persists despite all outward forces? Please tell me you have one of those, I am desperate for a comedic performance.”

“He’s an emotional bloodbag for you,” Caro says. “He’s no good to you dead.”

Chrysalis looks pleasantly surprised. "Oh. Someone's done their research.” She sits up. “Still, you're lucky he hasn't died already. He and the dark chambers below are so very incompatible.”

A memory of Tohro curled up in the oppressive darkness of an underground maze makes Caro fume, and momentarily forget all concepts of keeping his emotions in check. "You left him in the dark?!" he yells before stepping back and taking a deep breath.

Chrysalis flashes a smile. "You sound so shocked, my dear. I thought you'd find the fact he hadn't taken his own life more surprising."

"He wouldn't,” Caro says quietly. “He… He wouldn’t. He's braver than that."

"He’s crawling at the walls, or at least he would be if he could move. He whispers to himself... repeating a certain stallion's name. Of course, that’s between absolutely scrumptious emotional breakdowns. It’s been almost too much for me to eat. But what do I care? I can treat myself every now and again, I deserve it."

You deserve to be nailed upside down to a crucifix with your head held underwater, Caro thinks, before searching his mind for more dignified images of the stallion he loves. Tohro in his strongest moments. Fighting off the Thieves Guild before they became allies. Fighting off his former army in the name of his friends. Diving headfirst into a squadron of armed cultists to rescue innocent unicorns. The intimate details of his fur as he closed in for a kiss...

Caro displays his anger, but he speaks calmly. "So long as I'm in his heart, you can't break him. It's the same for me. So long as my angel lives, I have nothing to fear."

"Ahhh, so that's why he keeps repeating your name. I was worried he'd already snapped… See, my darling Caro, breaking someone just sends them into a miasma of panic. Doing that to him was never my goal. I’m no sadist.”

“Really?” Caro mutters.

"You can’t make use of a broken tool. That said, I am interested in seeing what would make that happen. I'm almost tempted to show you to him, to see if that would do the trick."

Caro focuses on an image of himself and Tohro walking out of those doors, forelegs intertwined. "He and I are leaving this place together."

"Oh, I've no doubt. Everyone leaves this place eventually. The questions is… when? See, Tohro's been such a lovely source of food for us. He radiates something that I can’t quite comprehend. A new flavor, if you will. It comes as I listen to him whisper your name, forever hoping for you to come save him. Why would I be so keen to let you take him? I’d rather watch him grow old, senile, as he speaks to the darkness itself, trying to believe he can see you. I don’t know how long it’d take for me to tire of this new flavor, but I’d enjoy it while it lasts.”

Caro's expression remains neutral, but his words are much less so. "You're ugly."

Chrysalis looks a little offset. “Come again?”

Caro never thought he could be so calmly angry. "You make the world ugly so you can be beautiful. But you're not. You're a sick and twisted abomination from another age with no purpose. You fill your empty void of existence with hate and misery because that's all you've ever known. You're hopeless, meaningless, and ugly."

Chrysalis purrs. "Scathing, dragon-eater. But doesn't the Dragonborn kill and devour to become stronger himself?”

"I protect the weak,” Caro says. He turns away from Chrysalis, uninterested in hearing this spiel, especially from her. “You just exist."

“I fulfill what is demanded. Lines up rather nicely with what I want. We are assassins, feared like the Dragonborn. Killing to feed ourselves, to grow stronger. That’s a service, an exchange. You’re just an anomaly in a cycle of violence, desperately trying to protect a race of unintelligent barbarians who feed on empty sustenances like violence and rape."

Caro’s body moves against his will, turning back around as Rasahrel’s voice overtakes him. “You don't know them as well as you think. You certainly don't know my Dragonborn either."

Chrysalis, for just a sweet second, falls out of her haughty demeanor, in shock at the sound of the new voice. “M-Mistress...?” She shakes her head and returns to as she was before. "How cute. How does it feel for your power to be controlled entirely by a being you once despised? Surely you feel some hatred for being condemned to a life of servitude? That must put things into perspective."

Rasahrel forces Caro to step forward. “Surely you remember that ponies and dragons once coexisted. Together, they created a society that lasted for millennia. Before the collapse that you caused, we lived in relative harmony in our airborne cities. The time for cooperation has come again, and it starts within Caro. We who shed the doctrine of Saviikaan know that he will set both dragons and ponies free, not with genocide, but with strength of heart and good will. If you stand in his path, you won't like where yours leads." Caro feels Rasahrel’s contempt for Chrysalis beneath his skin. “Slave.”

Chrysalis flinches. “I don’t obey you anymore. You’re the slave now. You’re trapped in a walking prison.”

"It matters not to me. All of your rhetoric will mean nothing when your hollow empire falls and you lie dead at the Dragonborn's feet. You can wax philosophy all you want, but my host has accepted the atrocities he committed. You relish in them. You're just as pathetic as you were when you cowered at my feet."

“Ah, my old mistress, you forget yourself.” Chrysalis stands up, shedding her cloak and revealing her hole-littered body. “In the end, death serves me."

The room is filled with the oppressive noises of buzzing wings and clattering chitin. Caro, relinquished of Rasahrel’s control, looks up and sees a familiar sight. A ceiling filled with glowing eyes that threaten to pierce his soul. Unlike before, though, he knows what they are, and he refuses to show fear to them, not that he has much fear to begin with.

Rather, he displays a sense of humor, laughing to himself. "You know,” he says to Chrysalis, “the problem with your hive mind is that, despite having so many drones at your command, you're more alone than anypony else.”

“Hm.” Chrysalis steps down from her platform. “I should have figured you’d have backup. When do you intend on calling your friends?"

"I'm the only one here,” Caro lies.

"No, you're not. You have no weapons. Therefore, you thought you could delude me into a false sense of security, and distract me from the rest of my children. But that is not so. My children have been prepared for the Thieves Guild’s arrival. As for you, I'm not letting you leave this room unbound or unscathed. So, all that remains is for you to make a desperate attempt on my life. Go on, Dragonborn. Take your shot."

For the moment, the plan is a bust. Caro holds on to hope that the thieves will locate Tohro before he's put to death. Despite that, he chuckles at Chrysalis' bold assumption. He finds it hilarious that, for once, Chrysalis is objectively wrong about something.

"So, about me being unarmed..."

Caro’s foreleg is wreathed in a bright light. He summons Excalibur into his hoof and swings it upward, creating a wave that slices through the carpet and destroys the staircase leading up to Chrysalis’ throne, which topples over as she leaps from it.

“Hm. That’s new,” Chrysalis comments, taking a gander at Excalibur’s perfectly forged beauty. Clairvoyance comes to her in the form of widening eyes. “Ugh. I should have known.” She hisses at the sky. “Come out, thief! I know you’re there!”

A flaming chain cuts through the darkness, just for a moment replacing the acid green light with intense reds and oranges. Chrysalis fires off spreading blasts of non-elemental magic, but none of them seem to hit the target, wherever he is.

“Where are you?! Why can’t I see you?!” Chrysalis screeches.

The flaming chain snags around her neck, silencing her cries. A metal boot appears out of the air, planting itself on her back as she falls to the ground. With a distorted shimmer, Altair appears, his talons tight around his Ares blades. “Because you never see with your eyes,” he softly muses. “Lie down and die easy, lest I steal your fluids and everything else you hold dear.”

Chrysalis disappears in green flame and reappears behind Altair. She levitates the chains and pulls on them, tripping Altair and landing him on his beak. “You know not what I cherish. Now you, Caro, and the entire guild suffer.”

Altair glances at Caro, who is taking cover beneath the table. “We already have.” Altair spins onto his feet, kicking at Chrysalis’ face, following up with a swing of Ares that slices her cheek. He goes for her neck next, only for her to cross his blade with her horn. The two sharpened objects grind against each other, setting off sparks.

Altair swings his blade upwards, then strikes at Chrysalis’ mouth as she hisses. She shrieks and roars simultaneously as she spits green blood from her mouth. She disappears again, reappearing above Altair with a fully lit horn. She fires off more magic bolts that tear Altair’s cape and hood, as well as burn his armor. He grunts every time he takes a hit, running full-tilt across the throne room. Chrysalis teleports in his path every time he gains distance, continually assaulting him with magical blasts.

Altair reaches the table opposite from Caro, leaping over it and kicking off all the bowls and plates. He slices through the center with Ares, rending it in two. He picks up one half, and with unforeseen strength, swings it around and smashes it against Chrysalis just as she materializes in front of him again.

Chrysalis backs away. Her eye is leaking green just the same as her mouth, which is now slanted. Her jaw appears to be broken. She brings her hoof to her face and presses into it. An unpleasant, cringe-induced crack sounds out, and her face returns to normal.

She steps over the table. “That was mahogany.”

Altair glances at the splinters beneath him. “Oh. There goes a small fortune.”

"No matter. Life is the only thing that's priceless, apparently." Chrysalis narrows her eyes into a glare, the green tears adding a malicious light to her stare. "You lose so much, and yet you persist?”

Altair raises his blades and brings them down on Chrysalis, who blocks with her foreleg. Her chitin is far less fragile than that of her drone, the blades barely leaving a dent. “I’m not some honorless crook. My guild is my family, and you’ve tormented them as long as I’ve been with them.”

“Blame the one who prayed for that old housewife’s death. It wasn’t my fault.” Chrysalis levitates Altair out of her grip and holds him up by his talons. “You might as well blame a courier for a dirty letter. And yet, you chose to bother me. So I had to take away some of your toys.”

“They had names! Fraptious, Ava, Grimly—” Altair’s cries are silenced as he’s forced into the wall, face first.

Chrysalis strides past Altair, talking to him like a nanny would to a malcontent child. “First they merely were taken, and when you bothered me more, they were hurt. When you still yet bothered me, they had to be killed. Else you might not have learned your lesson.” She gently touches Altair’s back. “Blame me not. Had their bodies not shriveled up and stunk up the place, I would have returned them in time.”

Altair ejects from the wall and kicks Chrysalis across her head, then smacks her with the flat of Ares. She topples over. Altair lands and plants one of his blades into the hole of her foreleg, twists it to lock it in, grips the chain, and starts running. “You insult me, Chrysalis!”

As he runs, Chrysalis is dragged through wood, splinters and broken masonry, pieces of her chitin being left on the floor to mix with greed fluids in her wake. When they reach the end of the room. Altair lifts the hilt of the lodged blade and pulls as hard as he can over his head, until Chrysalis, screaming in pain, is relieved of her foreleg.

Like an echo across a chasm, the observing changelings all scream as well, in vicarious agony. Caro realizes that he’s hearing the pain of hundreds of forelegs being ripped off, all at once. Even his clouding the hivemind doesn’t seem to dull that pain.

Caro, watching closely, realizes how hard his chest is beating as he looks into Chrysalis’ crying eyes. But the pounding is not of the good sort. It’s not a rush of excitement or adrenaline, it’s fear. Fear for Chrysalis’ life. Despite every irredeemably sick thing she’s said and done, something about this sight doesn’t sit well.

Altair points his blade at Chrysalis’ face. “Your continued existence is insulting to me!” He kicks her in the chest and neck.

Caro looks up at the ceiling. The changelings have recovered from their pain and are concentrating their gaze on Altair. Their chittering, merely white noise until now, has risen into a deafening cacophony. Caro knows they’re about to attack.

“Altair! Eyes up!” he shouts.

Altair grunts as he acknowledges the many eyes falling upon him. He pulls his blade away from Chrysalis and steps over her. He then points his blade at Caro. “Why are you still here? You’ve done your part.”

“But I—” Caro can’t put it into words. He can’t think of any way to reasonably pitch the idea of sparing a sick creature that has ordered the deaths of countless ponies, and captured many others for her own gain. “Altair—”

“The role is complete. You can wait out the rest.” Altair flashes a warm smile. “Just go be with Tohro.”

Caro feels Altair’s talons tugging on a cord in his heart. “You think I don’t want to?!” he shouts. “But I’m not going to submit to running. I’m still in this with you.”

“I and your muscles beg to differ.” Altair jabs his talon towards Caro. “What, do you think you’re going to earn something for throwing yourself into the fire again? Yes, I gave you Excalibur, but I still stand by knowing one’s limits. Trust me, you are very limited right now.”

“By all means, stay around and entertain me…” Chrysalis japes, despite being sans a limb. Altair presses on her face with his boot, silencing her.

Altair now points at the door. “I can understand being a hero when no one else will, but you have the entire Thieves Guild backing you up. You can go.”

“Altair…” Caro loses control of his tongue. He feels Rasahrel take over his voice. “You will not kill her!”

Altair and Chrysalis wear the same surprised look as they stare at Caro, who finds himself stepping forward against his own will. The forced walking strains his muscles, making them cry out, but he’s unable to make Rasahrel relinquish control.

“Dragon?” Altair asks. “A-are you one of Caro’s slain dragons?”

“I am his friend.” Caro’s hoof points at Chrysalis. “Altair, in the age of dragons, before this thing was known as Chrysalis, she was a slave of mine and Saviikaan’s. She is not of this world. She was created, not born. She has no soul, and as such she does not know emotion, nor does she know her sins. She is but a hollow shell, unable to fill the emptiness in her soulless body no matter how much emotion she and her fellow husks devour. How is that worth killing?”

“Nothing you say can change what she’s done.” Altair holds both Ares blades to Chrysalis’ throat. “Or what she would do if I let her live. If anything, her being soulless makes this all the easier.”

Caro feels Rasahrel thinking within him. It’s as if his own mind is being used by her. Images of the children who suffered in silence at the hooves of Sunflower flash before him, and he knows that it’s Rasahrel who is drawing from them. The words then come out. “Would you rather she die a shadow, or be forever known to the world as the monster that she is? Have her secrets revealed to those who have suffered by her? ”

Altair takes a few seconds to respond. “And what would happen then?” he asks. “I already told you, the fewer people that know about changelings, the better. The paranoia that we’d induce in the populace…”

“I have seen paranoia. The equines I once ruled over were under the surveillance of my kind. They were our underlings, and what you call changelings were our created slaves. While the slaves suffered as slaves do, the underlings were threatened to stay in line by the deathly grip of Saviikaan. Their paranoia was born of a higher power’s death threats.”

“So, what you’re saying is…” Altair loosens his grip on Ares. “The changelings would suffer if they were left to their own survival among an aware populace.”

Rasahrel forces Caro to nod. “Ideally. For all we know, stamping this hive out now could lead to a greater infestation in the future. Perhaps, if Equestria were on the lookout, and with Queen Platinum’s direction and your guild as a watchful eye...”

Rasahrel, much to Caro’s relief, seems to have chosen the right words. Altair is smiling at him, and her by extension. Relaxing his arms and dispelling Ares, he stands up and approaches Caro. He grips his shoulders firmly.

“There’s always another way,” Caro says, strong words of his own finally coming to him. “Why must we carry the burden of more death than necessary? For Epona’s sake, look at her.”

Chrysalis is crawling to the door. The fluids she leaves behind her are thick enough to ripple and spread across the carpet. She limply reaches out for the door, but her foreleg is too weak to even reach halfway. She whimpers as she tries to light her horn, but nothing comes of it. She gags and collapses yet again.

“You’ve never gotten this far. Maybe this is enough. Just let your crusade end here, and leave the rest to ponykind. You’re already a hero.”

Altair smiles and sighs. “Caro, I truly appreciate your sentiment, especially in this day and age. Only when the stars align does a pony like you come along.” He glances back at Chrysalis. “The only other one I know is... Mistral. She’s unearthly kind, devoted, and too good for a life among thieves. She’d have told me to do the same.”

Caro feels Altair’s talons shudder. His eyes fidget, and his voice becomes heavier.

“Ponykind is not made of ponies like you or her.” He lets go of Caro. “You and your dragon friend are mistaken. My enemy is a sick, narcissistic queen of ruin and death. But that doesn’t make me a hero.”

“Stop… NO!” Rasahrel cries as Ares appears in Altair’s talons. Caro tries to move forward, but he feels his muscles scream, filling his vision with red and causing him to stumble. He’s not fast enough to stop Altair, who leans over Chrysalis, raising both of his blades up high.

“You’re above this… NOT ME!”

Mistral peeks around the frame of the archway, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. When she heard of Chrysalis holding prisoners, she had a certain image in her head. A dark, dank prison, with actual bars and sulking ponies with at least some room for walking and conversing to pass the time.

What she did not expect, yet feels she should have expected in the first place, was cocoons hanging from the ceiling. The entire cavern is filled with dozens of them, and all but a few are occupied by terrified, very much awake victims. Their eyes seem focused on things out of sight, and completely glance over Mistral and Chippy, even as they step into the room.

“Was this what it was like for you?” Chippy asks in a hushed voice.

Mistral turns her head, stepping back when she comes face to face with the wide eyes of an encased child. “Well, I could scream, so that’s one thing Shokenda had over Chrysalis. But at least these ones are being left alone, for the most part…”

Chippy grits his teeth. "You feel that, yes? That crawl on your back?”

“I do.” Mistral nods grimly. “It’s fear, disgust, and misery, all at once.”

“That’s their emotions being drained from them... They're like feedbags." Chippy triggers his hidden blade. Steam billows through his mask as he snorts. "Come on. They've suffered enough; let's cut them down."

Chippy slices through the first stem he can reach. The cocoon falls and breaks open on the ground, releasing more green mucus and a haggard smell of sweat and decay. He waves the stench away and reaches into the broken casing, pulling out a small, fluid-soaked blue filly. She stirs and croaks out indistinguishable words. “Grr… Br… Mmm… Ma…”

Mistral approaches the filly and wipes some of the cocoon juice off of her forehead. “Don’t fret, little starshine. The cavalry’s here.”

The filly blinks a few times, and then points to the cocoon next to where hers was. “Mum…”

“We’ll get them all out, don’t you worry.” Chippy lays the filly down. She takes a seat on the stone floor, and begins to rub the rest of the mucus out of her fur. She watches as Chippy and Mistral walk along the many rows of cocoons, briskly slicing through them with their hidden blades.

The putrid smell intensifies with every broken cocoon, but Chippy, Mistral, and the filly ignore it, as it’s accompanied with the sounds of waking mares, stallions, foals and fillies, all rising from their former prisons. They’re covered in fluids, reek of death, and they’re free.

“Mum?!” the filly shouts above the many ponies’ weak murmurs, distressed and relieved at the same time. “Mum, where are you?”

A mare of an identical blue color breaks out of the stumbling crowd and limps over to her daughter. The instant she looks upon her, she smiles and lets a few tears fall, scooping her little one up into a crushing hug. Despite the pressure, the filly fully gives in.

“I guess there are some emotions that don’t run dry,” Chippy says as he helps an older stallion to his hooves.

Mistral searches through the last remaining cocoons, cutting them down as she goes. She counts two mares, one colt, a white stallion… She does a double take, and sighs with relief. The svelte pegasus smiles even when encased in insectoid skin and fluids. Mistral carves a hole in his prison and pulls him out.

Smug smile aside, he’s unconscious. Mistral fights back the thought that the changelings might have consumed him enough to put him into a coma. Those fears are put to rest when Tohro’s eyes fly open. “Caro!” he shouts before even breathing. He breaks out into long, labored breaths, and checks his surroundings. “This is the strangest bathhouse I’ve ever…” He then notices Mistral. “Oh, hello.”

“Surprised to see me?” she asks.

She can see Tohro’s mind click. He recognizes her voice. “Mistral? Uh, hello. I was expecting somepony else, you could probably guess.” Tohro yawns and leans his head back. “What’s with the doom and gloom armor? Has the Imperial Legion changed its look? I like it.”

Mistral decides to ditch pretense and just explains outright. “Tohro, I’ve been with the Thieves Guild longer than you ever have. I’m a Nightingale. Altair, Chippy and I are here to rescue you.”

Tohro blinks a few times. “Who’s Chippy?”

“I’ll explain everything later, I promise.” Mistral lays Tohro down, stands up, and takes flight above Chrysalis’ victims. “Salutations, everypony! My name is Mistral, and this is Chippy. Odds are you don’t know where you are, and it’s best that it remains as such. There is no need to worry about it, though, because by the end of this day, you all will be homeward bound, and the monsters that dared do this to you will be no more after this day. From the moment we set hoof outside, you will be safe.”

“But that means you will have to do exactly as we say!” Chippy adds. “Understood?”

There are meek nods and vocalized agreements among the prisoners.

Chippy decides that’s good enough and “By now, the Dragonborn and our leader are confronting the monster responsible for all this. We will take advantage of the confusion and leave with haste. Stay close, walk together, and don’t stop moving. If you do as we ask, you will be safe.”

One of the freed stallions steps forward. He raises his hoof and speaks to Chippy. “Hello, uh… Not for nothing, but the last time I trusted a dark pony with a deep voice, my family and I ended up in this sordid pit. How do we know you’re not leading us into a darker pit?”

Another stallion speaks up. “For all we know, you and the other dark one could be worse than the bitch who led us here.”

“Sir!” The filly’s mother yells, covering her little one’s ears. “There are children present.”

Chippy groans. “I am not a damn— I am not a changeling! And no one would dare come down here just to make things worse for you. That’s just impractical.”

Mistral intervenes, stepping in front of Chippy. “Please, everypony, arguments and paranoia are exactly what the changelings want. Would a disguised changeling ask you to suppress your emotions?”

There are a few curious murmurings among the skeptics within the crowd.

“I hate to say this,” says Chippy, “but you’re stuck between trusting us, or staying down here and awaiting Chrysalis’ wrath. Speaking as a pony who rather enjoys people being alive and unafraid, I’d recommend the former.”

“I can vouch for them,” Tohro says weakly.

“Not good enough!” the first stallion snaps. “We’re all terrified out of our wits here, don’t you try to undermine that!”

Mistral sighs. “What could we possibly say to convince you that we’re worth trusting?”

No one answers, not even Tohro, who is still unable to move his legs. It’s either out of nerves, or a genuine lack of any solution to the issue at hoof that nopony speaks. Chippy and Mistral exchange glances. Even beneath their masks, they can sense each other’s distress. They nod and decide on a solution simultaneously, regardless of how meager it might seem, or how much it might compromise their identities.

Mistral pulls off her mask and puts her hood down, baring her light blue face and glass eye for all to see. “See? For what it’s worth, I’m just a mare.”

Chippy does the same, revealing his orange fur and blonde mane. He puts on a pair of spectacles and clears his throat. His voice shifts from deep and imposing to soft and authoritative. The voice of a trusted guide. “And I’m Smart Cookie.”

Mistral takes a step back. “Woah!”

“ALTAIR!!” Rasahrel and several other dragons scream from Caro’s mouth.

Altair’s blades pierce the carpet. The sound of tearing fabric and breaking wood echoes through the darkness of the throne room, a far cry from the expected screams, squelching liquid and shattering chitin. But there is nothing lying in front of Altair, beyond a few green wisps where Chrysalis should be.

Altair’s heavy breathing can be heard beneath his mask. “D-damn…” he whispers. He shudders and pulls Ares out of the floor. He lets the blades burn away. “I didn’t expect…”

“You wore your anger on your sleeves in front of an emotion eater. Are you truly surprised this happened?” Hevnodiin asks.

Caro blinks and shakes his head. “Enough!” he yells at the dragons. “I’m surprised he and I both didn’t lose our minds talking to that thing.”

“Thing?” Altair says with a chuckle. “Not so merciful towards her now, are you?”

Nervously scratching at his forehead, Caro bites his lip. “Altair, please understand… There’s a principle. I want to be better than the monsters that are tearing Equestria apart. Chrysalis… I think I might be able to… I don’t know…”

“What? Appeal to her good side?” Altair asks with a berated smile. “Ah, the good side of demon who doesn’t know emotions beyond their taste on her forked tongue. Keep believing in such high concepts, Dragonborn.” He immediately drops his smile and glares at Caro like he can see beneath his skin. “You really are worthy of Excalibur.”

Caro doesn’t know if he would choose between the beration of a thief or the skittering of dozens of changelings. Either way, the situation is complicated. Chrysalis is gone, the changelings remain, and the best course of action seems to be to throw caution to the wind. The most Caro can hope for is that Tohro is safe, and that they can get out of here alive.

Altair looks around at the incoming changelings. “We must defeat them here, lest they turn on the innocents.”

The distant screams of several mares and stallions slips through the door.

Caro turns to Altair and sighs angrily.

The atmosphere of the lounge was foreboding to the Thieves Guild, the Nightingales, and Caro and Shae, but otherwise it was tranquil and relatively pleasant, until now. Chrysalis appears, having regenerated her body in full, makes the room feel dark and actively threatening, especially to the recently freed victims of her cruelty. As she turns to them with a furious stare, several ponies around the room immediately stop their socializing, eating and drinking, and turn into changelings.

Mistral and Smart Cookie draw their swords as Chrysalis advances on them. Several more sounds of drawn metal are heard afterward, even above the screaming party guests. Another collection of ponies have drawn their weapons, each of them immediately turning on the nearest changelings.

“The Thieves Guild has arrived!” Mistral yells.

“If you don’t want any part of this, leave now!” Smart Cookie advises.

Dozens among dozens of bystanders begin running for the exit in droves. Any changelings that fly after them are cut down by the pegasi of the Thieves Guild. In an instant, the entire lounge has become a war zone, with blades clashing against chitin, blood and mucus being spilt, and many inequine shrieks emitting among the hive.

Among the chaos, and the many ponies leaving, Smart Cookie notices a flash of pink, and wide childlike eyes turning his way. Puddinghead gasps, unable to believe that his old friend is alive and well. He’s too quickly caught up in the crowd to do anything else but run, despite everything he wants to ask.

Chrysalis bellows out a war cry. She advances on Mistral and Smart Cookie, who raise their swords in defense.

“FUS RO DAH!!”

Chrysalis is tossed aside from the impact of a mighty force coming from the balcony above. Caro is leaning over the edge of the fence. Chrysalis fires off a blast at him, but he ducks below the fence and comes back up.

Caro shouts again. “YOL TOOR SHUL!” A massive flame erupts from his mouth, striking the ground before Chrysalis. The carpet burns, as do the wooden chairs and tables the flames splash onto.

Altair leaps over Caro, Ares blades held overhead. He brings the blades down on Chrysalis’ horn. She fires off a burst that shoves him off. He sidesteps her horn, leaping behind a plume of flame. He slips his talons into his pocket and takes out a clawful of powder, chucking it into the flame. It flies through, creating an explosion that strikes Chrysalis across her face, tearing off her silky mane and ripping through her chitin.

Chrysalis ignores the cries of her drones as she stands and looks up at Altair. Half her face is gone, replaced with green, pulsating muscle and an unlidded glowing eye. She licks what’s left of her lips, and chuckles. “Altair…” she hisses, teleporting away.

She reappears behind him, her fangs sinking into his hood. She yanks him off the ground and tosses him into the wall. Before he can stand, she picks him up in a levitational grip. He hangs in the air, prone, his blades disappearing against his will.

“Get away from him!” Mistral yells, flying at Chrysalis. She’s knocked down two charging changelings. She bucks one off of her, and slashes at the other with her sword. She and Smart Cookie both engage the changelings, with urgency behind their every attack.

Chrysalis rips off Altair’s mask and tears his hood away with her teeth. She tosses him around like a ragdoll, then holds him close to her, his entire body left to her will, as she brings him close to the flames Caro started.

Caro, making his way downstairs, summons Excalibur and holds it high, working through the pain. He hesitates when Altair breaks out of Chrysalis’ grip just enough to put out his arm and hold his talons out. He shakes his head, and nods to the freed prisoners.

Caro turns to them. They’re backed against the wall, all of them soaked in residue, too weak to run. Among them, a shining white pegasus standing in front, ready to fight despite being naked and weaponless. Caro feels his body become lighter just at the sight of Tohro, but his heart become heavier knowing what will become of Altair if he just leaves.

But he can’t ignore what’s happening. The Nightingales are occupied with the changelings that would see the prisoners put back away, or worse, and Chrysalis seems like a lost cause. Caro makes his decision. He swallows the pain of his muscles and gallops for Tohro, taking his hoof, savoring the sweet image of his smile, and pulling him towards the exit.

“Follow me!” Caro yells to him and the prisoners. He hears mutterings of his name and the title ‘Dragonborn’ as he leads them onward. Hearing such praise lifts his spirits, despite what he’s sacrificing to hear it.

“Is Shae here?” Tohro asks.

Caro looks around the battlefield. There’s no trace of her, disguised or otherwise. “I don’t know!”

They’re mere steps away from the exit before five changelings land in front of them. Caro shouts “Yol toor!” in the hopes of driving them off, but they dodge the burst of fire and reform, advancing upon him, Tohro, and the prisoners. He strains himself to get into a battle stance, not knowing what to do. The thieves and Nightingales are being swarmed, Shae is absent, and Altair is dying. He resists the urge to belt out in frustration.

"Not good enough... It's never good enough!" Chrysalis' horn flashes as she levitates Altair closer to the flame. "Altair, you find my existence insulting? Because of you, everything I've worked for has been torn apart. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone! Because of you, every single petty thief in Baltimare and beyond will suffer, hanging by their legs in my pit, sucked dry until they’re turned into the so-called husks you hate so much. And you… You will burn for what you’ve done to my children!"

Altair grits his teeth, forcing his beak into a smile. He simply raises his arms and flashes a middle talon at Chrysalis, even as his feathers begin to ignite. He doesn’t display any sign of pain. “I already burned.”

Chrysalis appears thoughtful at the sight of such defiance. "Not good enough, then… Fine. All of Equestria must pay recompense. My children will swarm the skies of Everfree, sapping it dry of all its undeserved happiness. Even the Rainbow Palace itself will be my platter! The sages, the queen, the princesses! Their happiness, their anger, their misery, I will devour it all!”

A soft yet brutally intense voice rends the cacophony of the battlefield, causing every changeling to freeze. “Would you care to repeat that, you insolent whore?”

Before Chrysalis can turn, a magenta aura pulls on her tail and she’s flung into a pillar, breaking it in half on impact.

"I think you've misinterpreted something." There’s an explosion of magenta light before Chrysalis. Shae stands tall, her ethereal scythe clutched tightly. Every part of her body is gushing aura, her eyes white as the sun. "You're not a predator, and the world is not your hunting ground."

Chrysalis hisses as her form melts, her body turning alabaster and her mane about to turn pink. Shae swings her scythe at her. She howls in pain as she's flung through the pillar and into the wall, the floor above creaking ominously at the sudden lack of support. The transformation is aborted, and the monstrous queen remains.

"We're not your prey," Shae continues, radiating with steady, melodic fury. "Understand? I see your aura. I know your role in nature. You’re just a parasite. The soils of the world will not be enriched by your death. Do you want to know what will happen?”

Chrysalis tries to stand up, but in doing so leaves behind the remains of her left hind leg. As Shae advances on her, Chrysalis looks at her, eyes wide as she realizes that she’s being destroyed by a mere mortal. "S...st...stop… please… Your… an...ger…”

“More than you can comprehend, is it?” Shae asks. “I'm not going to feed you a drop of this anger and abhorrence; that would only prolong your death. It is my strength and mine alone.” She swings her scythe and brings it down on Chrysalis.

Chrysalis's mouth opens in a silent scream as her left foreleg is crushed by the very tip of the scythe’s blade, and whimpers as her horn is sliced clean off, ending her attempt to disappear.

Shae clicks her tongue and smiles. "Where was I? Oh, right. When you die, you will contribute nothing. Your chitin will become rock and your blood will rot the soil. But, then again, I’m sure you’re used to being a useless scrap of material matter, aren’t you?"

Chrysalis opens her mouth once more, the only sound to come out is “Please…”

Shae extends her scythe and hooks the blade around Chrysalis’ neck. “You think you know what it is to be a mother?”

Caro steps forward, summoning the one last bit of him that wants to see Chrysalis alive at the end of all this. “Shae, don’t do it!”

But that part of him is too small to matter anymore. Shae doesn’t acknowledge him, and focuses all of her passion and rage on Chrysalis. The whole world seems to go silent, save for what she says. “If you did know, then you would have won.”

Shae pulls on the handle of her scythe, cleaving through Chrysalis’ neck. She walks away as the head of the former queen falls to the carpet.

“Shae…” Caro backs away from her as she walks past, actually scared of her mere presence.

“What the hell…” Tohro asks, mouth wide open. “How did you…”

“You don’t fuck with a god,” Shae mutters, not even looking at her friends.

Caro feels something shake, and he prays to Epona that it’s just him.

The changelings all seem to have halted their attack on the spot. Those that were in the air have fallen, and those in action have withdrawn themselves. They all take on neutral, unassuming stances, either standing or sitting still. Some of the thieves tap the changelings or wave their limbs in from of their faces, but even then they don’t respond.

Altair approaches Mistral and Smart Cookie. “It’s over,” he says. “We’re done. Are you both well?”

“Yes. And we’d better get home quick, because I have a lot of questions about this,” Mistral says, pointing to Smart Cookie. “But we’ll worry about that after you’re fixed up.”

“It’s just a gaff,” Altair lies. His feathers are scorched and his right eye is filled with red. “Look, don’t assume I would hide any secrets from you. I questioned not why one of the founders wanted to join our ranks. He was simply skilled enough to be a Nightingale. I needn’t have let him wear the armor for any reason beyond that.”

Smart Cookie shoots Mistral a mocking glance. “If you didn’t happen to see my face until today, that’s your problem.”

“Now now, Chippy, be nice,” Altair says. “And for Hephaestus’ sake, put your masks back on. Get everypony that isn’t Shae or Caro out of here.”

Mistral and Smart Cookie nod and approach the prisoners, waving them to the exit. As they quietly and cautiously move along, Caro is reluctant to let go of Tohro’s hoof, even for a second. Tohro reassures him with his usual sly smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Soon,” he says quietly.

As soon as the prisoners are gone from sight, Altair gestures to Caro and Shae, bringing them both in close. “This wasn’t exactly how I imagined this day, but it’s good enough. My brethren that have fallen to Chrysalis’ rampage can rest peacefully.”

Caro nods. “I’m… I’m just going to take solace in the ponies I’ve saved. That’s good enough for me.”

“It’s okay to want closure, Caro,” Altair says. “In a way, I envy you. Many of us silence that part of us that cares how our enemies feel. It makes things… easier, I guess.”

“Sometimes I don’t want it to be easy. It shouldn’t be easy.”

Shae lends Caro a gentle touch of her hoof. “Caro, do you think that was easy for me?” she asks. The glow in her eyes has returned to a soft glimmer. “That was exhausting. My mind was racing, even after I made the final cut. I don’t know if I did the right thing, but it happened. I’ll just have to live with that.”

“As for what happens next…” Altair pulls out another clawful of powder. “Do you have another breath of fire in you, Caro?”

Caro sighs, nodding for what feels like the hundredth time that day. He looks to the burning furniture, carpets, and drapes. He then looks upon the stationary changelings, and reflects on how, before now, he thought that they couldn’t appear any more lifeless.

As Altair tosses the powder around the room, and Shae prepares a fire spell, Caro wonders if this is how easy it was for Saviikaan, every time he burned a generation of equines to ash.

Puddinghead stifles his laughter, while his audience of newly freed ponies, partiers, thieves, and two Nightingales prepare for his punchline.

“So then the soldier picked up the book and smacked it over the head of the drunken mustang, shattering his glass eye. That’s when he realized something. ‘Oi, barmaid, I found my book of contacts!’”

Everyone bursts out laughing, though Puddinghead suspects that the laughter would be more lively if he and the rest of these ponies weren’t standing outside the burning building many of them were trapped in. Even so, Puddinghead feels that the least he can do is bring some humor to the matter. It seems to be working.

He takes a bow and steps off of the soapbox he found stashed behind a tree. “Thank you, everypony! Tip your nonexistent waitresses!”

He accepts a few hoof bumps from the more enthusiastic members of his audience, then strolls away, feeling the need for a drink of water. He recalls there being a creek a few minutes away from the mansion, though he considers the possibility of it having dried up along with the rest of this forest.

Once the mansion is out of site, Puddinghead feels something metallic touch his shoulder. "Chancellor."

Puddinghead turns around. He immediately recognizes Smart Cookie’s glasses and intense analytical gaze. Aside from a few more wrinkles, he’s no different from how it was decades ago. "Oh! Goodness, Smart Cookie… Don't scare me like that, my heart can only take so much after today."

"Chancellor, you once drank a chocolate fountain,” Smart Cookie says, straight-faced as ever. “The whole thing."

"That’s what happens when you go on a Saddle Arabian cleansing diet for two days. Oh, and I thought that after several years, you would have at least remembered that I don’t go by Chancellor anymore. You need not refer to me as anything but a simple Puddinghead."

Smart Cookie nods. "Mmm. I would call you a fool for doing so, but you've proven in the past that your wisdom is leagues greater than even Starswirl's."

"Now, now, that just makes me an old fool."

Aside from slightly deeper voices, their shared laughter is just as Smart Cookie remembers it. He gives Puddinghead a comradic hug and pats him on the back. "Equestria is so obsessed with death. It's good to witness our jester-in-chief's return from the dead.” He notices that the glow of the burning mansion growing brighter. “How does one end up in a place like that anyway? You're not one to be led astray so easily."

"I may be an old stallion, but I've still got certain... proclivities that most mares wouldn't entertain. And when you've lost yourself in a few bottles of wine on an expensive carriage ride, a pair of lovelies can be particularly enticing. Next thing you know, a few decades have passed in an afternoon and your best friend is older than you are."

"Thank the Divines I'm above base arousal.”

"Now now, you'll find a mare to spend your days with, even if you are never as carnal and shameless as I."

Smart Cookie snickers to himself and pulls a scrap of parchment out of his pocket. He presents a drawn picture of a himself and a female mustang. “Her name is Agro.”

The difference in size is almost comical. “She’s… tall. I mean, she’s beautiful. You’ll have to bring her to the party in Everfree. Oh, it’ll be a hoot!” Puddinghead taps his hooves excitedly. “I instilled a protocol in Hurricane's initial ruling bill that a founder's absence of three months or greater must be celebrated, and those months roll over! This party is going to last for weeks!"

"That’s not happening."

"Oh dear, he's become a stick in the mud..." Puddinghead is now the only one laughing. His smile disappears slowly. "...What do you mean?"

Smart Cookie advances on Puddinghead, widening his eyes as he removes his glasses. Puddinghead is now able to see the telltale gleam and stillness of Smart Cookie's left eye. It's made of glass.

Puddinghead gasps. "You looked into our Elder Scroll, you mad foal! I told you, I had drawn the line at foreseeing the blizzard. I was sick for half a year because of my so-called bravery."

"Yes, yes, I took a glance, and it was not pretty.” Smart Cookie takes a deep breath. “Equestria is going to be destroyed.”

“...I’m sorry?”

“I saw the destruction of this half-built country. How far off that is, I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s long from now. In one instant, everything we’ve worked for will be gone. Puddinghead, we never should have come here."

"Wh-what… How… How can that happen? And why are you so worried? You and the rest of the good ponies I've met today have the means to keep that from happening, I'm sure of it."

"If only we could. I wish the Elder Scroll had told me more, but I only have so many eyes to give. I saw enough, though. Everfree in ruins, a blackened sky, everyone and everything burning to ash as the dragons rise over the horizon. Nothing remains but nature and a small collection of survivors, but I couldn't see their faces. I doubt we were among them.”

“Epona’s hooves…” Puddinghead mutters.

“But as the vision faded, I saw something else. I found an underground vault, with passages that lead to uncharted lands, ones that the dragons would gladly ignore. We can make it there in a week if we—”

“No.” Puddinghead gives the picture of Agro back to Smart Cookie. "If the dragons want Equestria, we should stand and fight. I won't let our friends' sacrifices go to waste just because there's a chance we could lose it all. Don’t you remember what I said when we planted the flag? I said that Equestria is a song sung by earthwalkers, pegasi and unicorns. The song can't end at the first lull. I’m going to keep singing. Now, are you coming with me to Everfree or not?”

Smart Cookie lowers his brow. He reaches into his pack, pulls out another scrap of parchment, and forces it onto Puddinghead. “Enjoy your party.”