“Halt! Who goes there?!”

Caro and Tohro pause in their approach, exchanging confused glances. The source of the voice makes itself known from atop the wooden scaffolding that flanks the large double doors. An earthwalker, clad in brown. He descends the stairs to confront them, the steel helmet obscuring his features except for the piercing eyes.

“This town is under strict border control! Anypony entering and exiting must be examined.”

“Uh... sir,” Tohro shuffles his hooves as he stares at the ground, “we’re both essentially naked.”

“Oh, really? I apologize. I can’t see anything in this damn helmet.” The guard removes it promptly and tosses it aside, where it lands in a ditch. “Never had much use for it.”

“You definitely look better without it,” Tohro offers with a roguish grin.

The guard smooths out his mane and returns to his rigid stance. His expression carries a hint of boredom from protocol, and his voice enforces it, sounding both formal and deadpan. Caro notices quite easily that he lacks the rigid discipline of an Imperial soldier, although his uncolored armor lets on to that well enough. “Right, it seems you both do not have any pockets as you, for unfathomable reasons, prefer to travel without armor. May I at least search your bags? The request is a formality, by the way. You don’t have a choice.”

Caro shrugs and hoofs over his bag of holding. “Of course, we’ve nothing to hide.”

The guard sifts through the bag, pulling out a small pouch of coins, a few random tidbits, a spare blanket, and... “Soap? Who carries soap with them?” The guard eyes the purple bar that smells of lavender.

Caro rolls his eyes. “Some of us just enjoy being clean, is that so difficult to comprehend?”

Tohro snorts and kicks at the ground.

“Wait, what the...” the guard mutters, pulling the Imperial greatsword from the bag. The size almost topples him over as he grasps the hilt in his teeth, spitting it onto the ground. The other guards from atop the scaffolding gasp at this impossible display. “How does a common adventurer get his hooves on one of these?”

“I found it on the side of the road,” Caro lies. “I was going to return it to the Imperials.”

With all the goods replaced in their impossibly small bag, the guard passes it back, which Tohro slings over his shoulder.

“Alright then, we’re good to enter?”

The guard raises his hoof. “Not so fast. Are either of you Imperial soldiers, missionaries, undercover rebels or changelings in disguise?” His snout hovers inches from Caro’s own, eyes narrowing. “I’ll know if you're lying."

Yet I was able to get away with ‘I found it’? Caro thinks, tapping his hooves in impatience. “No, we’re not any of those things.”

"Yeah, I don't believe you. Shunt off." Turning on his hooves, the guard returns to the scaffolding and his snickering comrades.

Caro leans forward. “That’s a load of arbitrary bullshit! Do you turn everypony away?”

“Look, mates,” says one of the other guards. “We've enough trouble keeping the citizens of Trottingham calm as it is, and two mysterious strangers, one of which going au natural, wouldn't benefit anypony.”

“We already had two zebras coming in asking around for some mare called, uh... I forget,” another guard chimes in. "They make everypony so jittery... We had to push them out before they did something regrettable."

Tohro dashes up the scaffolding to berate the guards, getting in their faces and snarling. “I don’t like zebras either, but you’re all pretty sorry excuses for keepers of the peace! If you were anything like the Blackwings—”

A rather chubby guard advances on Tohro, grunting in annoyance.

“Oh, we’ve heard this ramble too many times. Soldiers from both sides preaching to the Jarl. We’ve had to restrict entry for the citizens’ safety. It’s not just soldiers either. Bandits are all over the roads, and there’s been an assault on Gallopagos Keep. Reinoc’s somehow burned to the ground—”

“Hey!” shouts Caro as an idea enters his mind. It’s a stretch but he feels it could be his and Tohro’s ticket inside. “What if I told you I know exactly what happened at Reinoc?”

The guards become silent, their irritation turning to intrigue as they lean over the scaffolding. “You do?” They ask in unison.

Caro lets a satisfied smirk slide across his face. “Oh, I do.”

“He does.” Tohro nods furiously.

“Well, uh...” says the chubby guard, looking about awkwardly. “We apologize for the inconvenience.” He smacks the skinny guard standing next to him upside the head. Both gallop to opposite sides of the scaffolding, biting down on ropes and pulling the double door open. “If you actually know what happened, you should visit Jarl Drake at Equinesreach. Tell her everything.”

Caro gives the guards a mocking salute. As he and his companion pass by, the chubby one calls down to Tohro. “One more thing, Blackwing. I know of your patriotism. I recommend keeping it to yourself if you value your safety.”

Tohro only spits in response.

Caro whistles in awe at the beauty of Trottingham, with its ever-flowing streams of clean water bordering the streets and tall, lavishly decorated buildings upon lush green hills and smooth stone platforms. i]No wonder they call it a safe haven. Over in Riverhoof, one can’t so much as cross the street without some debate or rumor regarding the revolution popping up. Here, neighbors greet each other with kindness, children frolic without worry or fear, and ponies ho shopping as if it's just another pleasant day that doesn’t encompass fears of death or sickness looming.

The most iconic sight is the tall manor that sits atop the many layers of the town. Above it flies a yellow flag painted with a black, draconic eye.

"I've never met Jarl Drake," Tohro says. "However, I hear she has a rather strict watch over her citizens. How she does it with such unprofessional guards, though..."

Caro tunes him out. Crossing the short bridge over the stream, Caro sees a humble, dirty looking shop. Woodcut letters above the door spell out Glassworks. Hard at work outside the door is an earthwalker mare. Her yellow coat is covered in grime, concealing rippling muscle more defined than an average female. Her fiery red mane is plastered to her forehead with sweat and soot as she toils at the furnace underneath the blacksmith shop veranda.

Immediately, Caro’s mind flashes back at the clang of the anvil. The sizzling sound of hot coals, the steaming pail of water for cooling, the rhythmic thumping of the tanning rack. Each of the senses brings so many memories.

He snaps from his reverie and notices he is now at the entrance. Several rusty and malformed iron swords lay scattered across the workbench. “Terrible, ain’t they?” a voice thick with a northern accent pricks his ears.

Caro’s stare snaps up to see the mare, looking over the swords as she lets out an exhausted sigh. She picks up one in particular that’s broken halfway down the blade and cradles it in her hooves. Caro sits on the ground and holds out his own. “May I?”

The mare nods and passes it to him. He takes it gently in his hooves, eyes tracing the length of the blade. He recognizes it as an iron sword, one of the first swords he learned to craft. For what isn’t broken, it’s well sharpened and the hilt is steady. “It’s not horrendous.” He shrugs and places it back onto the bench. “It’s certainly finer than my first blade.”

“What became of it?” The mare tilts her head slightly, her eyes showing sudden interest in this kindred spirit.

“Well, there were a lot of burned, chopped up bits and pieces... and don’t get me started on the sword.” Caro waves a passive hoof.

The mare laughs heartily, almost music to Caro’s ears. “Aye, a true smith never gets away without first tanning their own hide!”

“One does learn quite a bit through trial and error.” Caro glances down to his own scarred hooves. “I’m sure you’ll make a blade anypony can be proud of.” Eventually.

“Well, that’s enough small talk,” says the mare as she dances over to the furnace. “What can I do you for?”

“Quite a bit, actually,” Caro replies coolly.

“Excellent!” With a sweep of her hooves, she shoves all the botched swords off the workbench. “Looking to protect yourself, or deal some damage?”

“I’m looking to smelt a sword I.... um... came across. Is there a fee for that?”

“Not at all!” The mare hops on the pump that heats the coals. The temperature of the furnace rises. “Just toss it on in there... assumin' you have it with you.”

Caro tilts his head, then does a double take when realizes Tohro still has his bag. “Bugger.”

The mare laughs again. “Can’t bring about your sword? Happens to the best of us.”

“No... just... my partner has it, and he...”

“Well, that explains everythin'!” The mare smiles even wider.

Caro brings his hoof to his face, blushing madly. There’s a brief yet strong gust of wind, or at least that’s what Tohro’s quick fly-by feels like. “Oh, calm down,” the pegasus says as he makes a dramatic landing on the balcony. “Congratulations. You’ve pierced his mussed up hide worse in a minute than I have all week!”

“You’re not helpin' his case, love.” The mare shakes her head, trying to stifle yet another laugh.

Tohro retrieves the greatsword and tosses it blade first into the dirt, right at Caro’s feet. “Happy Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

The mare jolts back at the impact of the sword, her eyes widening when she sees what it is. “Imperial? How did you—”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell...” Tohro mutters.

“You’re still not helping,” Caro groans.

The mare has to resist touching the sword, for fear of the grease upon her hooves ruining it. “Oh, sweet Hephaestus... This is amazin'! Imperial steel is so hard to come by outside of Everfree. I could make a fortune off of...” She snaps to gaze to Caro. “I’ll buy the ore off ya. Four hundred bits, how does that sound?”

Tohro makes a shouting gesture and mouths Do it! Do it! to Caro, who doesn’t have to give it a second thought. “You’ve got yourself a deal, miss.”

Even with that done, Tohro still can't resist cracking a joke. “Aw, I thought you were saving your sword for somepony special?” Tohro wiggles his eyebrows.

“Actually, before you smelt it,” Caro says to the mare, “I might make use of it across a certain somepony’s neck.”

“Too late!” the mare shouts enthusiastically, tossing the sword into the furnace.

“Oh!” Tohro puts a hoof to his forehead, swooning with an overt amount of drama. “Dashing my hopes upon the dreary plains of the east, you are! Now I shall never attain eternal bliss from Caro’s sword piercing my supple pegasus body! Woe is me!”

The mare counts out four hundred bits from her pouch, trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry, love. I’m sure there’s quite a few archers willing to get a bead on your head.”

“I’ve always looked down on facials.” Tohro frowns as he caresses his own face. “Why would I want to mark up something this beautiful?”

“I doubt anypony would find you worth an arrow,” Caro replies, placing the hoof full of bits into his bag.

“One would think you two are onto something,” the mare snickers. “Best keep it under wraps in some lands.”

“Oh, please," Caro groans. "Tohro just likes to think he’s the stallion everypony wants. Typical Blackwings.” Taking the hundreds of bits proudly, Caro swaggers away from the blacksmith’s shop with Tohro, who makes flying jumps between fits of laughter. "Thank you."

The mare shouts their way. “If you’re ever in town again, looking to trade, buy, craft, or whatever, you give Rosemary a holler. That’d be me!”

The circular marketplace in the center of town is where the two main districts of Trottingham conjoin. The duo take in the surroundings, noticing various shops and stalls selling wares. Caro can’t wrap his mind around how to spend his newfound fortune, but Tohro has no such qualms. “I saw a shop back there with bear hide! It’d be a perfect look for you!”

“I do enjoy how you're keen to spend my bits,” Caro replies, rolling his eyes.

A dingy stallion clad in rags approaches them, smelling of clover and cheap wine. “Hey! You outsiders always have gold on ya! Spare a piece?”

“Sorry, we’re new in town,” Tohro responds, nudging Caro. “Got no gold to our names.”

“Stop it.” Caro sighs. “Here, would this help?” He hands four bits to the stallion, who sits and eyes them, biting on one to be sure.

“Finally! Now get lost!” the stallion snorts. “Bring more gold next time!” He turns and stomps off.

"I suppose even this place can’t be perfect." Caro shakes his head and ascends the stairs to the upper district. Tohro intercepts him halfway up, concern overtaking his jubilation.

“I think I figured out what your problem is. You’re too damn nice.” He points an accusing hoof. "You want to help everypony you come across and that always gets you into to trouble."

“In what kingdom—” Caro stops himself, wary of the citizens surrounding him. He drapes a foreleg over Tohro’s shoulders and pulls him in close, whispering conspiratorially. “In what kingdom is chopping a battalion of Imperials to bits too nice?”

“Depends on if you’re on my side,” Tohro whispers back before pulling himself free. “Which you’ve made abundantly clear you are not.”

Snorting at Tohro’s playful ignorance for what feels like the five hundredth time, Caro continues toward the tall tower sitting upon the highest point in the town.

“Just hear me out,” Tohro interrupts his thoughts. “I know what happened at Reinoc too, you know. Shokenda told me everything.”

“She wasn’t there.”

“Not as far as you know.” Tohro crosses his forelegs. “Shokenda is hardly a liar, but even I almost couldn’t believe it. Almost.”

Caro keeps walking, repeatedly intercepted by Tohro.

“What if Jarl Drake thinks you mad?” He taps a hoof on Caro’s head. “She doesn’t answer to any authority but herself. Mind you, she’s neutral in this war. She could lock you up in the nearest madhouse without a second thought. Or she might turn you over to the Empire and reap the reward!”

Caro rolls his eyes and keeps walking, getting a faceful of pegasus once more.

“And that’s if she decides to be nice! She could just axe you on the spot for wasting her precious time. It’s happened to my mates. Simply trying to appeal to her better nature and getting support for the Blackwing army resulted in three beheadings at once!” He tosses his head proudly. “Not including mine, of course.”

Caro’s shallow reservoir of patience has run its course. “Well, good for her then! I've only kept you alive for the sake of debt, even though you keep reminding me that you only saved my blank flank for your foolish cause! Beyond that, what would you honestly care if I were to lose my head?”

That stops Tohro’s chase. “I... well..." The pegasus smiles meekly, crossing his forelegs. "Aren't we friends?”

Caro scoffs and turns away, trotting up the steps. "Not yet." He keeps his eyes to the manor ahead, pushing out any urge to look back at Tohro.

The staircase erratically ascends to the the front porch of the tower, where the words Equinesreach are carved eloquently above the door. Caro climbs alone, leaving Tohro behind with much to think about.

Equinesreach.

It is a place as exotic as its namesake. The warm luminescence of a central fire pit, invoking images of Hearth’s Warming, reflect off the wide wooden floors. Caro takes it all in, noticing Torho admiring his reflection in the floor. Bordering an open ceiling are draconic decorations and patterns that echo an age long past.

All anger within Caro vanishes at the sight of a dragon’s skull above a decorated throne. Despite its snarling visage and testament to power, it fills Caro with an uncanny sort of peace and serenity to see one of the beasts devoid of life.

“Is it not beautiful, earthwalker? It was a gift from an ancient dragon slayer, back when dragons were much a more common ilk.”

Caro’s ears perk at the sound of a noblemare’s voice echoing off of the vaulted ceiling. There she is, sitting upon an ornate throne, decorated with carvings of dragons and symbols lost to time. A velvet white robe and fur lined hood keep her face hidden from sight as Caro approaches.

She removes her hood, revealing a gold unicorn with a mane of cerulean. Eyes of silver gaze into a bowl of similarly colored liquid. The mare raises her hoof to keep Caro from speaking first. “This is the part where you say...” An awkward moment of silence passes.

Caro asks the question on the tip of his tongue in an attempt to break the choking tension. “You are Jarl Drake?”

“This is where I’m supposed to nod.” She does so. “And then you will say...”

“If it’s not too rude, may I ask what you’re doing?”

“Mmm...” she pushes the bowl aside. “Your Blackwing friend was quite right. You are too nice. And yet... blunt.”

“Told you,” Tohro whispers, nudging Caro.

Caro merely snorts, and flashes a cheeky smile. “Well, it’s good to know I’m being spied upon by the neutrality,” he glances to Tohro, “as well as the Blackwings.”

The jarl laughs. “Do not think that you are so special, young one. You are a traveler who has come to my fair city. And I judge all equally here, even those who are not my own. You have passed the test quite well, earthwalker. May I get your name?”

“Do you not have it already?” Caro bows his head slightly.

“Ah, yes, but it is better to hear it straight from the pony’s mouth.”

Caro approaches the throne and kneels, a small smirk on his face. Under normal circumstances I think I would be angrier, but perhaps I should be honored. “Then you shall have it. Caro of Riverhoof is what I am called.”

Jarl Drake stands, examining Caro closely. “What a simple name. I rather like it. It has no higher meaning for you to live up to. You aren’t restricted by fate or tradition. Your lack of a mark is testament to that.”

Caro returns to his hooves. “I need no mark to know my future lies in—”

“Smithing?” The Jarl cocks a brow. “I feel you could be capable of so much more.”

Her constant foreshadowing brings Caro to a sobering theory. “Do you know everything that will ever occur?”

Her silver eyes widen in bewilderment, quickly followed by amusement. “Divines, no! How is that fair? If my scrying and foresight allowed me to see into the future, I could have taken Equestria for my own eons ago.” She steps down from her throne and approaches Caro. “The future is only based on our immediate decisions. It’s... complicated. To put it simply, ah... Never mind. You’ll understand someday.” She walks past Caro and ventures over to a long table decorated from end to end with succulent vegetables and pastries. “Fresh out of the kitchen. Care to have a bite? You look most famished.”

Tohro decides to help himself, allowing his noisy eating to replace the calm air of the temple.

The offer is tempting, and Caro feels he has no reason to distrust the Jarl. He dips a large carrot into one of the many sauces available and takes a bite. After many meals of dry bar food and merchant-bought rations, the flavor is overwhelmingly sweet and spicy.

The Jarl levitates a vanilla frosted cupcake her way. “See, through the liquid glass, I foresaw you eating this instead. In a minor way, you changed your destiny.”

“Mmm mfee,” says Caro through a mouthful of carrot and spice. He swallows and clears his throat. “I see.” He follows the Jarl back to her throne.

"Now that your head is empty of doubt and your stomach sated, I want you to tell me exactly what it is your friend was so concerned would land you in the madhouse, which it won’t, I assure you.”

“It is simple, really. Reinoc was destroyed not by a single earthwalker, but by a being much greater than I.”

“One who sows chaos and disharmony?”

Caro shakes his head. “I have no clue what its intentions were. What I do know is that I laid waste those intentions with a single blade, bringing about a rain of blood and scales. I... I killed a dragon.”